


Rescue Me

by DarkAlpha67



Series: Moondust [2]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abusive Behaviour Toward A Character, Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski Are Twins, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Elements of Child Abuse, F/M, Gen, Grieving, Grudges, Heavy Angst, Hunter Allison Argent, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, Hunters & Hunting, Implied Betrayal, M/M, Malia Tate is a Hale, Nightmares, Orginal Character's, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Supernatural (TV), Self-Worth Issues, Slow Burn, Stiles Stilinski is an Argent, The Bunker (Supernatural), The Hale Pack - Freeform, past mistakes, really slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-02-10 13:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12913323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAlpha67/pseuds/DarkAlpha67
Summary: Stiles had does as promised. With Beacon Hills behind him and his new life as hunter his only reality, Stiles has his future planned out. Hunting monsters with his sister, Allison, by his side and working toward reinstating the Argent name, Stiles thinks he's put everything behind him, for good.But Beacon Hills always has a way of drawing you back in.*Sequel to 'WAR OF HEARTS'





	1. The Argent Twins

**Author's Note:**

> HEY!!! HERE IS THE SEQUEL I PROMISED. It has been so so long, and I have been working extremely hard on this fic, which is why it has taken so long to be posted
> 
> This fic takes place 6 months after WAR OF HEARTS, it will show case a new Stiles and also, include Allison Argent. Many details have been altered as it should be but I hope you all enjoy and like. it
> 
> This chapter is more of a preview for the story to come. I am not sure when I will be updating it, but I thought I'd give you all some evident to ensure you lovies that there is indeed a sequel out.
> 
>  
> 
> Lots of Love. Spread love and not Hate. <3 <3

“Stiles! Hurry!”

The rain pelleted down on him, drenching him, chilling him to the bone. He let out a deep grunt as he speared the shovel down, the curved end, finally, hitting hard wood. Too busy to allow the feeling of triumphant to take hold, he drove the shovel down on the wooden covered casket.

“Stiles!” A voice screamed over the heavy rain and the wild winds. A gun shot goes off, followed by another and another.

The moment the bones were revealed, Stiles tossed the shovel up and onto the leveled ground above him.

With his clothes weighting him down, with the fingers sinking into the soaked soil, Stiles pushed himself up and out of the grave.

Another shot rang out.

His heart spiked and everything in him was urging him to stop and turn around, to see with his very eyes what was happening but Stiles ignored that instinct and started riffling through the drenched duffle bag, pulling out a large can of salt.

Turning it over, he hurried shook it out over the bones. The lighter fluid followed, his fingers frozen and shaking as he made quick work, the sound of the shotgun being issued ringing in his bones.

“Sti—ARGH!”

_Allison!_

He spun around, his eyes seeking her out instantly. He watched, his heart stopping, as her body soared through the air due to an invisible force, crashing down to the hard, soaked earth.

With his body burning and his heart spiking, Stiles turned, digging into this back pocket for the flip-top lighter.

A cold chill ran down his spine and a shotgun blast followed.

Salt grains stun his skin.

Flicking the lighter on, Stiles dropped it into the corpse, igniting it. The burst of sudden heat warms his wet body causing his sodden clothes to cling to his skin.

An inhumane shriek filled the air and Stiles spun around, watching as a flame took the shape of a human silhouette, its flecks of flared sparks raising into the air for a short while before vanishing. The heat around him was vanquished, the dangerous chill in his bones making itself known once again.

The heavy rain and the manic winds lessened to nothing but a drizzle and a gentle breeze.

Without a second thought, Stiles spun, taking off, running to the figure laying on her back. Her leg bend up, her arm slung over her stomach as she groaned.

His knees sunk into the earth as he dropped down beside her and dark chocolate eyes locked with his, followed by a tired smile.

“You sure took your time.” She groaned, her dark hair clinging to her pale, slightly bluish-tinted face.

She shifted to stand, stopping abruptly with a wince.

Stiles’ eyes widened and he reached out, one hand cupping her cheek and the other hovering over her, his eyes running over her entire body, searching for the injury.

“It’s fine, Stiles. It’s just a dislocated shoulder.” Allison squeezed her eyes shut as she moved, lifting her body while clutching onto her shotgun and trying not to put any pressure on her shoulder.

Stiles reached out, taking hold of her uninjured arm and swung it over his shoulder, her shotgun hitting him on the side. Helping her up, he tried to hold onto her as gently as possible as they walked, knowing that out of the two of them, she sustained the most injury in this hunt.

Her arm squeezed his neck just a bit and then she unlooped it. “My legs are fine, bro.”

They had reached the grave, the flames now extinguished. A establishing the grim atmosphere of the grave site.

“So long, Mr. Creever. You were a pain in my ass.” Stiles muttered, looking down at the bones with an affected expression before moving his eyes to the heaped soil surrounding the grave.

With a tired sigh, Stiles reached down and unclipped the car keys from the belt loop of his jeans, handing it over to Allison who had just straightened up from placing the shotgun into the duffel bag.

“Get in the car, I’m gonna finished up here.” He said.

She looked ready to protest but the small wince she failed to hide with a little shift of the arm caused her brother to shoot her a firm look.

Allison rolled her eyes in return. “Fine. Fine. Just hurry up, I need to set this shoulder and fast.” With that, she turned around.

Stiles watched with sharp eyes as she stumbled in the direction their car, a classical sleek deep turquoise ‘67 Camaro they had obtained thanks to Dean and Sam. The Jeep, his precious car was back at the bunker, far away and safe from his rough life. He heard about all the shit the Winchester’s Impala went through and there was no way he was putting his Jeep through that.

Exhaling a tired sigh, Stiles turned back to the grave he’d dug, his body already groaning at the work waiting to be done as he snatched up the shovel.

With a loud, deep grunt, he scooped up the first heap of dirt.


	2. The Bond Between 'Family'

“Thank God,” Allison groaned, dropping the duffel bag at the foot of her bed; the one furthest from the door.

Stiles huffed in exhausted amusement, watching as his twin lowered herself down on the cheap plastic chair beside a matching table. The white plastic ensemble was covered in mystery specks that Stiles refused to investigate and had long since gotten used to.

“Okay, you first. Then me.” Stiles said, shrugging off his black leather jacket to toss it on the table, not giving two shits about the wet, dirty article of clothing as he moved around Allison.

His sister leaned forward and Stiles, calming standing behind her, gingerly placed his hands in front of her shoulder and on her shoulder blade. He felt around, probing gently, ignoring the intake of breath indicating he had found the injury.

Adding a bit of pressure, he positions his hands over the dislocated area.

“Okay, on the count of three.” He said to her in a casual tone.

Allison took in a deep breath and nodded.

“Okay, here we go…” Stiles glanced down at her. “One!” He pushed, a loud pop reaching his ears, followed by a muffled scream.

“Oh, shit!” Allison groaned, slamming her palm down on the table for dramatic effect.

Stiles rolled his eyes and shuffled over to the duffle bag holding his clothes. As he moved, he was mindful of the painful throb in his back and shoulders, and the deep gash on his thigh that was currently coloring his jeans crimson.

“We need to go shopping.” Stiles called over his shoulder. “I don’t think my jeans can take any more of your crap sowing.”

“Oh, bite me.”

Allison stood up as well, making her way over to the bed. She had her injured arm curled around her waist as she started tugging out random articles of clothing. Without another word, she made her way into bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Pulling out a pile of clean clothes for himself, Stiles reached into the self-made side pocket in his duffle for his cell.

Limping over to the chair Allison had previously occupied, Stiles slowly dropped down, forcing his body to not sink into the seat, like it was heaven on his ass (it’s not). God, he hoped she didn’t take too long. They had a rule, rinse the filth off your body and get out. There was no need to take any longer, regardless of the fake credit card the room was on.

Looking down at the new phone, since his other was busted on a hunt last two weeks ago, he was met with the sweet smiling faces of his sister and himself, both so young and innocent. Stiles knew, if he were to look in the mirror right now, that glow his eyes once held, the only light he’d managed to hold on to, would be gone. Dimmed by his life and the choices he’d been forced to make.

Sighing, the brunette scrawled down his contact list, coming to the “D” category. Without any consideration, he pressed call, lifting his lead like arm to his ear.

Two rings in and a deep voice answered. “ _What?_ ”

“Nothing.” Stiles rolled his eyes obnoxiously, “just called to let you know me and Ally handled that little ghost problem in Wisconsin.”

A loud, frustrated sigh reached his ears. Distantly, he heard the bed groaning on the other end. _“Do you have any idea what time it is?_ ”

“I’m guessing a little past midnight. I haven’t really had time to check, what with me and my sister being flung across the air. But you’re welcome, Dean, don’t even mention it.”

“ _Oh, screw you. I’m way too tired for your pain in the ass brand of humor._ ” Dean groaned deeply, making it clear he was literally trying to keep himself up.

“Fine, I’ll let you go back to sleep. Just called ‘cause me and Ally might be radio silent for a while.”

Behind him, he heard the bathroom door open and a small idea formed in his head. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as Allison shook out a few wet strands with her fingers.

Meeting her eyes, he grinned.

“Is that Dean?” She asked, her smile growing just a bit wider.

He’s still a little creeped out with his sister’s weird infatuation with Dean. The asshole didn’t help matters by smirking and winking at her, even after Stiles promised to find some spell that would give him the worst form on menstrual pain he could get.

He was a little sleep deprived when he made that threat but it still stood.

Right now, however, because he loved being a piece of shit, and Dean was being a dick, he answered her, “Yeah. Wanna talk to him?”

_“Stiles- You fucker, don’t you—“_

He eagerly handed the cell over to his sister who was all too happy to take it. He raised with some difficulty, grabbing his clothes and towel for an awesome luke-warm, two minute max shower. His skin crawled, pleading to be clean of the filth and sweat currently coating it.

“Hey, Dean!” Allison greeted, her dimples appearing as she climbed onto her bed, crossing her legs as she settled down for what he hoped was a lengthy conversation.

Now, he may not like the way his sister acted around Dean. Sure, the guy was as hot as a pile of burning coal, but knowing it was only minor, subtle flirting (which still creeped him out) and that in the end of day Dean saw Allison as family, made some small part of him accept it for what it was.

As he stepped under the spray, Stiles flashed back to that _one_ conversation he had had with Dean…

That one small interaction that changed the way he saw the Winchester’s. The day he thought of them as his friends and not just his mentors.

 

**

 

_He remembered waking up, his heart slamming painfully against his rib cage, a cold layer of sweat covering his forehead. Cold green eyes flashed before him as he stared, wide eyed, at the bare white walls of his room in the Bunker._

_He blinked. Pained blue orbs stared back at him. His chest tightened with each trying inhalation._

_Suddenly, the darkness of the room starting closing in, becoming heavier, thicker, suffocating him. Roughly, Stiles shoved the sheets off him. He scrambled of the bed, stumbling out of the room, desperate to escape. He ripped the wooden door open and a blinding white light blinded his vision._

_Stiles winced, raising his hands as a shield from the sudden glare._

_Once the sharp pain in his eyes subsided, Stiles made his way down the empty walls. His bare feet patted against the cold tiled floors, echoing lowly._

_He passed three doors and paused, turning to the left. Glimmering eyes fixed upon the Men of Letter’s symbol. With anxiety flooding him, Stiles fought against growing urge to check up on her. He felt the tremble in his hands as they hang limply on his sides._

_With a shake of the head, he reached over, hand wrapping around cold metal before slowly turning the door knob. It groaned as he inched it open._

_There, curled up, hugging a pillow to her chest was his sister, fast asleep. He took in her peaceful expression and smiled lightly, the tight grip on his chest slowly loosening. He liked her like this, calm and free of the burden of her mind._

_Her eyes were still circled by dark bruises, a testament of what life with the Winchester’s have been like._

_Allison stirred and Stiles froze, watching, praying…_

_When she settled once more, he let out a small breath of relief._

_Nightmares… The one thing Stiles was grateful Allison didn’t suffer from. Sure, there were the odd sleepless nights but no cold sweat inducing, heart palpitating nightmares._

_Leaving her be, Stiles stepped back, closing the door behind him as he took off toward the kitchen. The lights were brighter in here and it successfully woke him further up._

_He worked methodically. Putting on the kettle, Stiles prepared himself of good, strong mug of black coffee._

_“Hey.”_

_Stiles spun around, wide eyes falling on a bulky figure entering the kitchen, no doubt on the same mission as him. Except instead of making himself coffee like Stiles, he walked straight to the fridge and pulled out a cold one._

_“Dude, really? It’s like 2 am.”_

_Dean turned, a cocky smirk plastered on his stubble face as he made a show of twisting the cap off and tip the bottle back for a long pull._

_He closed his eyes and swallowed the beer slowly, his expression one of pure bliss. “Hmhm.”_

_Stiles rolled his eyes, lifting the warm nectar that was coffee to his lips to take a cautious sip. “You’re an idiot.”_

_Dean shrugged his shoulders, walking past him. “It’s daylight somewhere, kid.”_

_With a tired sigh, Stiles followed after the older man. They made their way out of the kitchen and to the research room. This room, thankfully, was low lit; the few light bulbs on the walls giving the entire space a warm and ancient feel._

_Stiles loved it here. Not because of the book collection, which was damn near orgasmic, but because it was in this room where he and Allison bonded most. Over books, over their next case. It came so easily for them to just be, as Sam and Dean had their own thing. The most important reason, however, that he loved this room so much was because here, when things weren’t weird between the brothers, the Winchester’s and Argent’s spend their time talking and exchanging random stories._

_He felt comforted by the warm voices and loud barks of laughter issued by Dean. He felt surrounded when he listened and debated with Sam and Dean, whether it be about Folk Lore and rock music…. And he felt safer than he’s ever been around them all._

_Taking the seat opposite Dean, Stiles leaned back into the wooden back and closed his eyes for a brief second, soothing away the burning behind his eyes from his lack of sleep._

_His body felt dead, burdened with the heavy weight of exhaustion but Stiles knew, even before he made the coffee, that he won’t be able to fall back asleep tonight. At least the coffee tricked his body into staying awake along with his restless mind._

_When he opened his eyes, they fell on his companion. There was laptop before Dean, its cold light casting over the hunter’s face. It accented the crow feet around his tired eyes, the deep indentation set between his eyebrows as he frowned at the screen and most of all, the light reflected how haunted Dean’s apple green eyes truly were._

_Stiles wondered if he will end up like Dean._

_He gathered, because those brothers sucked at keeping their problems between each other quiet, that Sam and Dean lived on opposite lanes of the same road. One lane had the possibility of splitting from the original route. It caused a visible strain to their relationship that he had picked up the day he arrived on their doorstep._

_He and Allison don’t have that problem. They may have similar surface background stories as the Winchester’s in the general sense but Stiles knew, as Allison knew, that there wasn’t another life for them._

_Being a hunter was in their name and in their blood._

_His eyes flickered down to his new tattoo, the tattoo he shared with Allison. The anti-possession symbol was inked into the inner side of his left forearm, dark against his pale skin. It served as a comforting reminder of the life he’d chosen for himself._

_The mark of the Argent’s on his chest and the protection he now needed for his new life were evidence of the road both he and his sister were on._

_A path that wasn’t a duty… It was a destiny._

_“What?” A deep, gruff voice broke his train of thought._

_Stiles focused his eyes completely on Dean who was frowning over at him. “Nothing.”_

_The green eyed hunter raised his eyebrows. “Don’t try that line on me, kid.”_

_“You really want to sit here and talk about my feelings?”_

_“Not really.” Shrugging nonchalantly, Dean lowered his laptop just a bit, before leaning back into his own chair, plucking up the beer and set to regard Stiles with a heavy stare. “But you could either talk about with me or with Sam. And you know how Sammy gets when there is a chance for heart to hearts.”_

_Stiles laughed lightly, pulling the corners of his lips down, nodding in agreement. Sam was all for talking about feelings._

_Silence fell over them._

_Dean left him to be and Stiles appreciated that but as the silence dragged on, the younger man found himself unable to put his feelings into words. Dean seemed to have guessed this, because he sighed and leaned forward, taking one last sip of his beer before placing it down beside him._

_“Listen,” He started gruffly, “I ain’t gonna ask you what the hell is going on with you. If you wanna talk, you can but I am gonna tell you this.” He looked Stiles dead in the eyes. “Whatever crap you got going on in that head of yours, whatever crap is keeping you up at night, you need to forget it, okay? If you can’t fix it, forget about it.”_

_Stiles clenched his jaw, forcing him eyes to give nothing away._

_“Now I may not be the best person to be giving out advice but I know a little something about guilt. It’s a two way street, kid, and it’s gonna drag you down and get you killed, especially if you ain’t getting the sleep you need to do this job. You’re gonna put your sister’s life in danger, you understand me?”_

_At the mention of Allison, Stiles glared at Dean. “I won’t let her get hurt.”_

_Dean rolled his eyes, letting out a patronizing sigh. “Oh, yeah you will. It comes with the job, you can’t protect her from that. Bottom line is, she’ll heal from cuts and bruises but death…” He shook his head. “Death ain’t something people walk away from.”_

_Stiles snorted. “Are you for real?” He ran his eyes up and down Dean to show how ironic that statement was coming from him._

_Dean picked up his beer and took a long casual pull. “Yeah, Sammy and I may have avoided death but it always came at a price.”_

_The whisky eyed hunter looked down at that._

_Dean added nothing afterward but Stiles could feel his eyes on him, burning into him as though he knew all and saw everything else._

_“I know.” Was all Stiles said to Dean._

 

**

 

Turning off the shower, Stiles shook his head, water splattering everywhere as he does so. He will never forget that night. To him, that was the first step in moving on from his past.

He made quick work of drying himself off, stepping into his underwear and socks. No way was he walking around this joint barefoot.

Walking out in nothing but his boxers, Stiles found Allison sitting on the bed, his phone off, discarded beside her and as she sorted through their first aid kit, getting everything ready.

The moment he entered the other room, her slightly damp head of hair snapped up. She nodded to the bed and he limped over, sinking down before her, careful not to wince at the painful dull throb he had been trying to ignore in the shower.

His twin said nothing as she disinfected his wound and stitched it up, working with trained and skilled fingers, her eyes narrowed and focused solely on the wound before her and not the brother who got hurt. He caught a glimpse of her anti-possession tattoo in the inner side of her left forearm.

“Dean said we should start using Dental floss.” Stiles supplied, wanting to fill the silence.

Allison scoffed. “Dean would also prefer to die with a naked girl by his side and a belly full of burgers and beer.”

“The best B’s.” Stiles quotes as he and Allison laughed. “I will never forget his face when his choice of words registered.”

With one snip, Allison cut the thread and packed their stuff away. Stiles covered his wound with tape and slipped on his sweats. Pushing up and off the mattress, he moved his own empty welcoming bed but with every step he took, he felt the tight monstrous knot return, growing larger in his chest. Stiles dug into his duffel bag where it sat on the foot of his bed to retrieve his laptop, knowing it would work as a perfect distraction.

His sister crawled into her own bed and flopped belly-down, letting out a long, tired sigh. She rolled over onto her side while Stiles waited for his laptop to switch on, purposefully keeping his eyes on his loading screen.

“You’re not gonna sleep tonight, are you?” Allison asked him, her croaky voice filled with worry.

“I will. Just want to check out some stuff before getting shut eye.”

“We just came off a case, Stiles.”

Turning his head, Stiles stared over at her. Even in the dark, her chocolate eyes pierced through his with a particular stare he was absolutely positive she never gave him before she met the Winchester’s.

It’s their ‘I smell bullshit’ stare.

“It’s not for a case.” He revealed, keeping his voice neutral and clear.

The bed groaned as she shifted, lifting herself onto her elbow. “Beacon Hills?”

He turned and focused his eyes on the laptop screen once again. The sick knot dropped to his gut.

“ _Stiles_ , we talked about this. In order for us to move on, we have to actually move _on_ from Beacon Hill. You keep going back to that place. Why?”

The screen came to life and Stiles typed in his password. Sam, who had taught him a few tricks, showed him how to hack into the nearest cell tower and then backtrack on the WiFi…

He started his usual new searches, looking for anything near California that would stand out, signs that screamed supernatural. When nothing came up Stiles check out more sites, focusing on the number of animal attacks, the week’s weather report.

Stiles had been sure Allison had fallen back asleep, leaving him alone as she had taken to doing most nights after he made it clear he won’t be telling her _anything_ about what’s keeping him up.

Thinking about it hurt him to the core… to speak of it…

The brothers had made the connect themselves, Dean stating that Stiles left more than just his family behind and Sam telling him that in time, he will get over it…

“Stiles.” A soft voice spoke his name and Stiles’ flying fingers paused.

He glanced over to his sister where she laid down on her side, head pillowed on a curled in arm, a shadow casted over her face, blocking his view of her features. But though he couldn’t see her, he knew she was looking at him with pained brown eyes.

He could _feel_ it.

“Are you ever gonna tell what truly happened back at Beacon Hills?”

“I already told you.”

“Not everything.” She whispered.

Stiles bit down on his lip as a cold chill crawled up within him.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he lied to her.


	3. The Banshee's Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the wonderful comments on the previous chapters and kudos. It means the world to me.
> 
> Love Y'all. Don't forget to spread love and not hate. <3 *THOUSAND KISSES*

Three days passed and neither of them brought up the night in the motel.

They barely spoke, and when they did, it was related to their newly found case and the conversation was laced with tension.

He knew Allison, whom he’d always turn to when something bothered him, struggled to accept Stiles’ decision to remain tight lipped about Beacon Hills but no matter how much she stared at him or questioned him, he refused to speak about it.

As promised, he hadn’t called anyone and neither had they. Not that Stiles expected them to, but during the first two months of his leaving, he had foolishly hoped someone would reach out…

On the third month, when Dean had bluntly told him to forget about _them_ like they were probably trying to do with him, he had stopped checking his cell every night and instead focused everything, mind and body, into the life he had chosen for himself.

He stayed up late at night, reading over Dean’s father’s journal. He overloaded his brain with research and, thanks to Charlie, he was able to get quite a lot of info in a short time and answers to a lot of ‘Real or Mythical’ questions that sprung to mind at random times.

Allison took the same road, days into them arriving at the Bunker.

With Dean’s training, which focused specifically on guns and knives, and her and Stiles’ usual sparing they’d both agreed to continue, it was easy to forget. It was relieving to be able to lose himself in his work, to momentarily forget what was driving him in the first place… Until night fell and he had nothing to do but think and think…

“Think it is like Beacon Hills’ werewolves or Sam and Dean’s kinda werewolves?” Allison’s sharp yet soft voice pulled him to the now.

“Does it matter?” Stiles questioned, his hands gripping the steering wheel as they drove down the long, empty stretch of road, heading for Missouri.

Driving with Allison was one of the many things he loved most about this new world he had entered. They’d spend their days in the Camaro and during those times Allison would fill the silence with her singing and Stiles with his joking. They bonded, which was a hard thing to do sometimes when they were constantly on edge and in the fritz about the new big bad they had taken down or were on their way to kill.

“Guess not.” Allison answered beside him.

A report had alerted him yesterday morning on animal attacks. The M.O screamed supernatural but the evidence made it hard to discern which breed of lycanthropy they were dealing with.

It took exactly two days for them to find the werewolf responsible for 2 deaths… only to discover it was of both kind.

Allison, perched atop a building with her bow and arrow drawn, waited calmly in the night as a girl lead a man down an alley. Stiles remained hidden in the shadows, his gun gripped in his hands, dressed in a black pair of jeans and boots, a red worn out hoodie that he knew he needed to get rid of under a bulky black leather jacket. With his hoodie drawn up, his face was well hidden from any wondering eyes.

As he stood with his back pressed against the rough bricked wall, he listened in, waiting for his time as the auburn haired girl seduced the man into complete isolation, away from civilian eyes and reachable ears.

“You’re pretty young to be wondering the streets at this time, ain’t ya’?” The man said in a gruff, baritone voice.

The girl in his arms sighed loudly, luring in him with false enchantment and arousal. Stiles leaned to the side and glanced around the corner, assessing the scene. The man had his back to him, giving Stiles a perfect view of the girl as she gave her victim a sinister grin, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

Leaning up, she cupped the side of his face and buried hers into his neck, drawing a filthy moan from the man. Her eyes remained open, cold and lifeless as the man fell under her spell.

The instant Stiles saw the familiar flash of golden yellow, he spun around the corner, bringing his gun up.

“Let him go.” He demanded, his voice deep and commanding.

Gold eyes locked on him. A low rumble came from her as she pulled back, her teeth elongating.

“What the hell!” The guy yelled, ripping himself away from the girl. He stumbled back and whipped around, his wide beady eyes filling with terror as he took in Stiles and the silver gun gleaming in his hands.

“I don’t know her! I swear!” He exclaimed in a pathetic attempt to exonerate himself.

But his words were lost on the young hunter as a growl emanated from the werewolf behind the man. She bared her teeth threateningly, long canine’s sharp-tipped, fingers curling; claws replacing human nails.

Before the girl could even consider making any move, a whizzing sound reached Stiles’ ear and a long, black arrow zoomed past him, impaling the werewolf in her shoulder.

The girl let loose a loud pained howl, falling back at the force of the arrow, onto the filthy floor with a smack.

The man screamed in shock. Stiles turned to him, his gun aimed point blank at his head. Stiles knew, regardless of what the man just saw, that he’s perfectly hidden in the shadows provided by the high walls of the alley and his hoodie.

“Please, don’t—“

“ _Shut up._ ” Stiles cut him off harshly. “Scram. Now!”

Wasting no time, the stranger spun around and made a break for it, his heavy feet pounding against the ground, down the alley as fast they could carry him, away from Stiles and away the girl, leaving her at Stiles’ mercy.

He waited until the man took the corner, disappearing from the scene before he lowered his gun to the whimpering werewolf withering on the floor. He slowly moved toward her, his boots thudding silently, his gun dropping the closer he got until he had reached her body and the barrel was aimed straight at her heart.

“Now, what were you going to do with that piece of scum?” Stiles questioned her lightly.

She snarled at him, her fangs lengthened and sharp, tongue licking at the air threateningly. Her eyes, gold and fierce, stared up at him but as those eyes bore into his with no waver, Stiles caught a flash of a particular emotion in her wolf orbs and though this wasn’t the first time he had been met that it when on a hunt, something about it being in _her_ eyes tugged at him. It was the look of utter fear.

Footsteps echoed through alley and came to a halt behind him.

“What is it?” Allison asked.

Stiles narrowed his eyes, gazing down at the girl as she gripped onto the arrow’s shaft at the point of impalement, her eyes flickering from Stiles to Allison. By the slight widening of those terrified globes when they fell on Allison, Stiles knew his sister had an arrow pointed at the werewolf.

“Answer the question.” Stiles said to the girl. “What were you doing? Your kind don’t do that whole heart-ripping-out-to-feast-upon-it thing.”

Her golden gaze flickered to the gun and then back to him.

There it was again. Fear…

Knowing his sister had his back, Stiles shifted the gun so it was no longer pointed at her, lifting his three fingers for show as he lowered the gun and placed it in his thigh holster, mindful of the eyes that followed his every move. Slowly, he stepped toward her.

She shifted back instantly, attempting to scurry away. Her eyes snapped to Allison and she stilled.

“Hey, look at me.” Stiles said roughly, drawing her attention back to him. “You’re afraid of something but it’s not me… What is it?”

The golden glow dimmed in her eyes and they gradually returned to a soft ocean blue.

“Who are you?” She asked, her voice surprisingly kind and mellow, not at all like the deep tone she’d used mere moments ago.

“Stiles.” He tipped his head to the side. “This is Allison. Her arrow is up for me and as long as you don’t attack me, she won’t put one in your heart.”

Color drained from the girl’s face. She inhaled a hitching breath.

“A—Are you the Argent's?” The werewolf stuttered out, her brows furrowing together.

“You’ve heard of us then?”

A whimper escaped her then and Stiles watched, utterly surprised, as tears welled up in the girl’s sea blue eyes. His shock only grew as her shoulders, which had once been so tense and ridged, dropped as though a great relief had fallen upon her.

She gave them a shaky nod, her lips quivering and tugging up into a trembling smile. “Yeah, yeah, I have. I know—I know about you two. I know,” she said, her tone a strange blend of hope and cautious fear. “The rumors—Are they, are they true?”

Stiles frowned. “What rumors?”

“Defenders of the innocent, right?” She asked desperately.

The now frantic werewolf shifted on the ground and lifted herself up, only to freeze the next second. Stiles peaked over his shoulder and saw Allison, with her chin up, lifting her bow, the gleaming point of her arrow promising aim directly at the wolf’s head.

“So what if we are?” Allison asked the werewolf, her biting voice cold and strong. “That still doesn’t answer our question. What are you afraid of if not the arrow pointed at your head or the hunter with the gun standing over you?”

“My—” She shook her head, as though she’d lost her train of thought. “I have to get them hearts!” She exclaimed, voice high and filled with panic. “They said they’d kill him if I don’t do as they say! _They said they’d kill him!_ ”

She lurched up, her fingertips reddened by blood from the arrow wound, her red-brown hair clinging to the side of her sweat soaked face, but still, she pushed on.

The injured werewolf reached out with a jerk of her arm, her claw-free hand grasping onto the leather of Stiles’ jacket, her grip so tight, so desperate, that he found himself willingly leaning forward.

“Please, you have to help him.” Blue eyes bore into his, tears slipping down dirt covered cheeks. “ _Please!_ ”

 

*

 

Stiles felt the nerves sparking off his sister beside him. Her hand was wrapped around his gun, where it rested on her lap, its barrel aimed purposefully toward their tag along. Allison was facing him, her back pressed against the car door but her eyes, stone cold as ever, were locked on Claire, the werewolf, in the backseat.

Claire’s wound had long since healed and she was sitting as stiff and silent as a statue, fearful that one twitch will end with a bullet in her head just as Allison intended.

“Where did you say he was?” Stiles asked once more even though he practically had her story memories: A few months ago, she and her brother, Cody, were hiking in the woods. All of the sudden they were ambushed. At first they weren’t scared because they could smell that they were surrounded by their kind. She had felt a prick in her neck and then everything went black.

When she came to, her brother was gone and she had a strange Alpha that called himself Kal, telling her all these weird things about how she needed to take the hearts of men if she ever wanted to see her brother alive again.

As she told her story, each word being forced out with great effort, Stiles caught the mask his sister donned momentarily drop as she listened to Claire’s story.

“In this old run down building, it’s near St. Louis.” She informed him with a slight quiver in her voice.

He flicked his eyes to the review mirror, taking in her wild, worried eyes.

This was one of the few cases they had come across that somehow made it possible for them to fulfilling their promise and their personal vow. Allison and Stiles rarely found supernatural creatures who actually _need_ their help. Since starting to hunt solo, without Dean and Sam to do all the work, all it had been were demons and vampires (Which Allison laughed about for nearly half an hour).

Choosing to become _hunters_ , it was revealed fairly quickly that in the supernatural world, where everything was out to get you and it was shoot first and ask questions later, there was no right or wrong.

_“There’s just evil, kid. We were tasked to even out the balance. The humans are already fucking this world up, we don’t needs ghost and vamps causing more damage, am I right?”_

Fuck, Dean sure knew how to put a cheerful spin on everything.

Stiles looked over to Allison who met his eyes for a second before they returned to Claire. She glared at the werewolf and for moment, Stiles saw his mom. He cleared his throat roughly and pressed down on the acceleration, praying that this was a case that didn’t end in death and blood.

He’d lost count of the amounts of bodies he had to dispose of.

 

*

 

They pulled up a good distance from a monolithic building; run down and barely standing. The cold night air that blew through the cracked window chilled his skin even through his leather jacket. Blood rushed through his veins, adrenaline pumping as the instinct that had been beaten in for years took over.

Stiles pulled out his keys from the ignition, regarding the building with skepticism, scanning every inch of the structure, looking at the multiple lit windows. Some were broken and other’s looked well taken care of.

“All right… This is the place.” Stiles said aloud.

He turned around swiftly, glaring down at Claire as she stared up at the building, her body tensed and her fists clenched tightly. The instant his eyes fell on her, her head whipped toward him.

“This is the place. I can smell them.” She growled beneath her breath.

“Do we all remember the plan?” Allison questioned, her eyes dropping to the box beside Claire.

In it laid the heart of a man that died two days ago. His body was still in the morgue and thanks to a little make up and Dean and Sam’s lessons on how create a fake ID, Allison was able to sneak in and ‘retrieve’ it.

He didn’t ask for the specifics, trusting Allison to know how to do her job and how to cover up their trail.

“I remember.” Claire nodded shakily, turning to look at Stiles and Allison once again. His sister wasted no time to get out of the car, moving to shift her seat back, for Claire to get out.

She paused as if she had more to say, but she shook her head and slide out of the car, clutching onto the box.

Stiles watched her walk away, hearing the sweet sound of Allison cocking his gun. Getting out the car himself, he moved to the trunk of the Camaro. Sharing a glance with sister, Stiles hurried to open it up, pulling out an identical silver gun much like his own and two extra mags, and without looking they switched.

They turned toward the building, watching as Claire ran to the large dilapidated edifice and knocked. A second later, light washed over her calm form and she vanished inside.

Simultaneously, the Argent twins double checked their mags, slide it back into the gun and drew the barrel back, listening to it click into place. Allison nodded toward him and together they took off. They ran, ducked low, toward the building and Stiles felt his fingers flex around the heavy weight of his 9mm.

Glancing back, Allison’s dark eyes found his and he saw the fire burning in them which he knew mirrored his own, both of them ready for a brutal fight.

And a fight it was.

Not even a minute of having entered the building from the back as Claire had advised, growls and animalistic roars filled the walls and halls all around them. Allison and Stiles took off at once, their guns at the ready.

They split up, each having their own task in the hunt. Werewolf’s pounced on him and Stiles’ body reacted on instinct and that alone.

It was a bloody battle. With werewolves coming from every corner and bullets flying one second after the other. With the pain of his body being thrown around, and the fear gripping his heart that Allison wouldn’t make it out, Stiles fought for his life.

Dean’s voice ran through his ears _: “You fight, Stiles. No matter the end, you fight for the next second and then fight again for the next. You fight to make it, not for yourself. Fight for her, you hear me?”_

And he did. He unloaded his clip in every werewolf he saw, their feral behavior and murderous snares chilling him and pumping him up all in one dizzying state. Allison had long since vanished but Stiles trusted her. He found and killed every last werewolf that came into view until there was nothing but silence.

Stiles stood still, panting harshly with blood dripping down the side of his face. Bodies lay sprawled across the floor, lifeless at his feet. Observant, adrenaline blown whiskey eyes scanned everywhere as he moved further into the now vacant building, following the directions he had been given.

He didn’t have to walk far before he found his sister, chest heaving, jeans ripped and hair falling out its once secured pony-tail. Right beside her was Claire, and with his arm swung over her shoulder was a messy auburn haired boy, younger than Stiles would have thought, with eyes glowing bright gold.

Satisfaction and pride filled him at the sight, his tensed, tight heart relaxing, it’s thundering beats reducing to a calming pace.

“The Alpha?” He asked as his sister and the two werewolves drew closer. Instinctively his eyes ran over Allison, cataloguing her injuries.

“Taken care of.” She replied with a wicked smirk.

Stiles mirrored her smirked, both hunter’s basking in the feeling of having succeeded in yet another hunt.

“Oh, _shit_ , is this them?” A youthful voice spoke up.

Stiles and Allison’s head snapped over to see Claire’s brother staring up at them with awestruck eyes. Stiles didn’t miss the way they lingered on his sister, nor the glare the boy got for even considering it.

“Yeah,” Claire said to her brother, gratitude filling her eyes. “It’s them.” A wide smile split across her lips.

 

*

 

It was a long drive filled with silence and the occasional harsh whispering from both Claire and Cody in the backseats of the Camaro.

Allison had Skillet playing in the background, anything to focus on besides the werewolves they had just saved. It’s not often that she was in the company and the proof of her good work. Thanks to the rules and the mannerisms their mother and father had built into them, it was hard to express their emotions to the people they were raised to call their enemies.

For Stiles, it wasn’t as trying and that was because he was trained to be the spokesperson, the solider that was meant to be led by Allison, the fearless, cold-hearted leader.

It took two hours before they had reached the motel Stiles had offered to drop Claire and Cody off at.

It was an awkward goodbye, with Allison standing stoically beside him, eyes hard though her expression was softer than before. Stiles had a smirk playing on his lips, enjoying the way Cody and Claire shifted before them, uneasy and unsure as what to do next.

“I can’t thank you two enough.” Claire spoke, her voice light and dripping joy. A smile that hadn’t dropped since she and Cody were reunited only widened when her brother shuffled closer to her side, rubbing his cheek against her shoulder.

“Just take care of each other.” Stiles nodded, ready to turn around when a thought occurred to him. “But, just out of curiosity… what do people say about us?”

He felt Allison shift beside him.

Claire and Cody shared a look before the younger boy spoke up. He looked excited to be telling the story and the moment he opened his mouth, Stiles had a feeling this wasn’t the first time he’d retold it.

“It started a few months back. Rumors started going around about the Argent twins, and by this time your family was already a legend’s tale. The most feared werewolf hunting family. Your family’s name was spoken and we’d run.”

Allison and Stiles turned to look at each other before turning back to Cody. They knew those ‘legendary tales’ and the werewolves were right to run and get as far away from their family’s name as humanly possible.

No werewolf ever made it out alive if they were crossed path with Argent's.

“Word got around that you two vanished. Some said you two gave up the life, some said you joined our side. Now you gotta know, you guys were supposed to be this, hell raising, werewolf apocalyptic nightmare for us, so we werewolves needed to know this stuff. Then three months later, you two resurfaced, more violent, killing not only werewolves but everything else. _And then_ we heard that you were being trained under the Winchester’s.”

Claire’s lips curled up at the name and Stiles briefly narrowed his eyes at her. He was well versed with the history of the Winchester’s, he knew of the battles they fought, the wars they started and won. After months of living with them, Stiles won’t ever allow anyone, supernatural or human, to speak ill of the brothers.

“The Winchester…” Cody continued to say, shaking his head as if mystified. “You know the name we fear the most before your family is them. And you two were being trained _by_ them.”

Stiles nodded. “Then why did _you_ ,” he moved his gaze to Claire, “look so relieved to see me?”

Claire only smiled and turned to Cody, who said, “we heard about you two not only hunting us but… saving some too. Claire thought it was bullshit but I knew.” Cody grinned smugly. “Yeah, the Winchester’s are the things monster’s fear but they also helped us, helped the world and I knew that if you guys were saving people, innocent people, then the Winchester’s had to have trained you right.”

At his wide grin, Claire scoffed and rolled her eyes in exasperation, shoving the side of her brother’s head affectionately. “We really need to talk about you hero-worshipping the people you should be scared of.”

He felt something inside him shiver at that. _Scared of_ …

Cody just rolled his eyes in time with her comment, wrapping his arm around his sister’s waist. Claire looked to them, giving the twins one final nod before turning around along with Cody.

As he watched them walk away, Claire’s words kept playing in Stiles head.

“Claire!” He shouted suddenly.

Allison said nothing, simply shooting him a hard look as Stiles walked away, quickening his strides toward the werewolf siblings. He reached into his inside-jacket’s pocket and pulled out his wallet.

Producing a thin white card, Stiles offered it to Claire, watching anxiously as she took it with great caution.

“We’re not like our family.” Stiles told her. “You call me if you or your brother are ever in trouble, okay.”

As his words sunk in, tears sprung in Claire’s sea blue eyes. She gave him a watery smile and a shaky nod, turning to her brother and the two shared a look. Cody grinned back at Stiles, willing turning around with Claire.

They parted ways with one final glance, the werewolf siblings heading toward the motel with the money Stiles had given them while Stiles returned to his sister to where she stood against the Camaro, her cold facade broken and a warm smile on her face.

“I knew you wouldn’t leave them empty handed.” She boasted to him in her know-it-all tone, shaking her head.

Stiles tossed her a look as he rounded the car, heading for the driver’s side while Allison opened the passenger side door, remaining outside with a smug grin on her face.

“Where was that smirk when Claire was here?” Stiles questioned. “A smile wouldn’t kill your reputation, ya know?”

Just as Allison opened her mouth to comment back, Stiles’ cell rung. Allison raised her eyebrows while he dug deep in his pocket for his phone.

Stiles released a sigh as he answered. “Really, guys, we can take care—“

“Stiles.” A soft, clear voice spoke on the other end.

Everything within Stiles froze at the sound of her voice. His mouth hanged a gape in shock. He distantly heard the familiar cranking of a car door. His sister was by his side a second later.

“Lydia?” Stiles asked, disbelief softening his tone.

He couldn’t believe it. He stood rooted in place as various emotions coursed through his body, fusing and bursting in disarray, hindering his mind from understanding what was happened all around him.

“Yes.” She answered, her voice lowered as if she were whispering. “Look, I know we agreed we’d part ways and never speak again but…we need help. The pack is broken and we have no idea what to do and—” Her voice cracked.

Fear filled him. “What, Lydia? What?”

Allison’s hand fell on his shoulder, her head tilted to the side as she stared at him, worry tightening her expression.

“It’s Derek, Stiles. Derek’s been taken by Kate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'Fight 'til the next second', was inspired by 'make yourself smile' quote by Frank on Supernatural.
> 
> STILES IN THE RED HOODIE:
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/236x/a3/b5/42/a3b5423f0da92be0e8deb2cfe58336fa--stiles-teen-wolf-stiles-derek.jpg


	4. Take Me Back To The Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter contains a minor Panic Attack from Stiles.
> 
> Thank you all so much the kudos and the comment, it means so much to me. 
> 
> PLEASE SEE END NOTE: <3
> 
> Remember to spread Love and not Hate. Love y'all. <3 <3

“Stiles!” Allison yelled out behind him.

Stiles burst through their motel door, ignoring the way it flung and crashed against the wall beside it. He rushed toward his bed, reaching under to where his belongs lay. Stiles ripped the duffle bag out roughly, his hands shaking as wildly he shuffled through its contents. He checked everything twice, his mind racing as Lydia’s voice resonated like an echo of her Banshee cry, urging to move faster.

“ _Stiles!_ ” Hands grabbed the material of his leather jacket and spun him around.

A blurry version of his sister took that of the duffel bag and bed. His chest heaved in shock, his heart hammering painfully, each frantic thud feeling like a knife being forced into him. Hands touched his chest. He was guided back, his body falling down without a fight whilst he sucked in a deep breathe, only to have his lungs constrict, refusing the air he so desperately needed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Allison soothing voice spoke beside him. Hands eased him forward and Stiles went willingly, placing his head between his legs, closing his eyes. “Okay, inhale… there you go. One, two, three, out. One, two, three. In, hold…” She kept guiding him, her fingers woven through his hair, scratching his sculpt soothingly.

Doing as she instructed, Stiles listened and focused solely on her voice until the air flowed easily and the pain his chest ceased, the tight sensation loosening with every controlled and timed breath he took.

With one final inhalation, Stiles had the strength to lift his head.

“You better tell me what the hell is going on.” Allison said, her dark chocolate eyes imploring, her jaw clenched. “We’re not leaving this room until I have the whole story.”

He opened his mouth to object and his sister tilted up her chin stubbornly.

Stiles’ teeth dug into his bottom lip as he mentally forced the wall he had taken great effort in constructing to crack, allowing those painful memories he’d buried deep into his subconscious to seep through.

Green eyes flashed before his own.

First cold, then kind and slowly, they transformed into those haunting hard orbs, swirling with anger and betrayal. His voice, gruff and raw, drifted through his ears. Stiles heard the ghost of his laugh echoing in the distance of his mind and felt the phantom warmth filling him, softening his heart for a moment before it vanished a second later, leaving him feeling cold and alone.

Taking in a strengthening deep breath, Stiles spoke, trying with all his might to keep his voice even. “Dad gave me a mission, told me about Derek Hale and what he did. You know all this. You know about the lies and the… misleading information.” He brought his hands together, eyes lowering to his fingernails still crusted with dried blood. “I didn’t mean to get close. One day I wanted nothing more than to drive an arrow through his heart and the next, I _couldn’t_ stop thinking about him. Then one night, we- we kissed and then I found out about mom and the lies and then he told me to fuck off and that he hoped I rotted in hell.”

His voice cracked near the end and Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to shed anymore tears. He cried over this already, he had taken the time to grief the loss of not only his family but the possibility of a happy future.

“Stiles…” His sister sighed his name softly, pain and sympathy clear in her tone.

He shook his head. “He’s been taken.” Opening his eyes, he glared down at his hands. “Kate… she took him. And I’m getting him back.”

Stiles was up, his feet moving before he’d even completed his sentence. Allison remained frozen on the bed, her eyes fixed blankly on the motel room wall. Moving swiftly to her bed, desperate to get everything and leave, Stiles’ body shook and tensed as his chest raised and fell in rapid speed. He counted the minutes he’d wasted just sitting there, having a fucking panic attack when Kate had Derek and---

He blocked away those thoughts. He couldn’t think of that, he _couldn’t_. Not yet.

Stiles grabbed Allison’s bag under her bed, clutching the strap in his white knuckled hand. Turning, his eyes fell on his twin standing by the door, tall and strong with Stiles’ duffle bag gripped in her hand.

“Let’s go.” Allison said and Stiles followed after her without a hesitant step.

 

*

 

They drove for hours, taking turns to rest and only a minute’s toilet break before they were back on the road. The Camaro rumbled under them, a driving force, comforting in a sense.

During those anxious hours, Allison questioned him left to right and he answered her in a clear, professional tone, treating this like any other day and as though this was just another hunt. She asked about the Hale pack and the roles each person played. She asked him to relay all he remembered, stopping him and changing her questions when she noticed she’d struck a nerve.

It hurt to talk about Derek, to relive those damning months. There was a sour taste in his mouth as he recalled how it pained him when their dad revealed the bitter truth, the self-loathing that had consumed him at the knowledge of what his aunt had done in their name and the heartbreak he’d suffered the day he had to face Derek.

They were just outside Beacon Hills’ county line when Stiles’ entire body tightened, his muscles coiling, physically preparing itself for the past he’d worked so hard to run away from. His stomach rolled as an aching knot formed, the urge to throw up burning his throat.

He’d vowed to himself and Allison that he would never return here… He’d thought he’d put this place behind him. This poisonous place where his mother had taken her last breath, where his aunt committed mass murder and the town where he had been close to taking the life of an innocent man.

Allison sped past the sign, the Camaro purring beneath them. A soft hands grabbed his, offering her strength and support. Staring straight ahead, Stiles gave his sister’s hand a tiny squeeze in response before she let go.

With one collected inhalation, Stiles strengthened his mind. The walls erecting, caging up the scared little boy he’d once been and allowing the person he had grown to become to take his place. Stiles felt his features tightening, his eyes turning emotionless and hard.

Allison was quiet beside him, the silence more profound without their usual music playing in the background. Stiles knew she, much like him, was rehashing their plan. It was a rough outline of one at best but Stiles had little doubt that with his sister beside him, having his back as he would guard hers that they would be all right.

The Argent twins drove through the off-course trail Stiles remembered so painfully clear. Trees shadowed their car, random flashes of light breaking through the branches and leaves. With the windows cracked open, the familiar woodland scent ignited a stabbing sensation in his chest.

They stopped just a few miles away from where he knew the Hale home would be. He hadn’t received another call from Lydia, only the plea for his help and a confirmation that he was on his way. Stiles wasted no time and got out along with Allison, the cranking of the Camaro’s door soothing him just a bit.

The old car was a constant reminder of the new Stiles. He loved the car dearly as it was a representation of the life he had built for himself, a gift from Sam and Dean, who had called it ‘their true home now’…

Stiles and Allison moved around to the trunk of the car, working swiftly on unloading what they would need. He rummaged through the secret compartment, taking out his sawed-off shotgun, shoving it into the worn out duffel bag. They switched out their silver bullets for wolfsbane powder-filled ammo, a heavy feeling settling in his gut as he clicked his magazine into place.

He hated to think that he would have to use them but Stiles knew better than to enter unknown territory empty handed. Allison had her knife sheathed behind her back, hidden beneath her white and black stripped shirt, while her gun remained clasped in her hand.

They had obtained a lot of their arsenal from The Bunker, however, their two silver barrelled Colts were a ‘graduation’ gift from Dean and Sam. Allison and Stiles loved those guns and though it was idiotic in every sense, they both saw it as pure representation of their success in escaping the Argent name and everything bad it was ever associated with.

Locking eyes in silent confirmation, Stiles locked the trunk of their car and set out on their trek through the Hale land, heading straight into enemy territory. Stiles refused to reminisce or allow nostalgia to take hold as he looked around, scanning the woods with sharp eyes and an alert mind.

He was here for a hunt and that’s it.

They had walked a good distance when Allison suddenly stopped in her tracks, fist up to halt him as her head whipped around. Stiles stood still beside her, doing a sweep of the surrounding area, eyes narrowed and cold, waiting and watching for any movement.

He was just about to give a clear confirmation when a black form soared past him.

A powerful force shoved Stiles to the ground, his duffle bag slipping from his hands as his body colliding the hard earth, lungs constricting as the air got knocked out of him.

He heard Allison gasp and grunt in pain. A shot rang out, echoing through the woods. Birds screeched at the thundering clap.

“Who are you?!” A voice, firm and forceful, asked, a growl bleeding through his tone.

Stiles blinked, his body screaming as it rolled over, eyes opening and rising to meet a gripping sight. With his hand wrapped Allison’s throat, the werewolf shoved her back. She gasped as her body was slammed back into the hard, rough trunk of a tree, her eyes widening in pain. There was a flash of silver, another clawed hand grasped his sister’s wrist and with a hard twist, Allison’s knife fell to the ground.

Stiles felt his body’s muscles shift.

Claws pressed against the tendons of her neck and he squeezed. “Who are you?!”

Allison narrowed her eyes and glared, pressing her lips together.

There was threatening growl and then one single click of a gun being cocked. The cold, metallic sound resonated through the woods, its deadly ring like ice cracking in a frozen lake.

The gun inched closer and Stiles seethed out, voice menacing and cold. “Get your claws off my sister, Scott, or I’ll empty this clip into your head.”

With his body tense, Stiles’ arm was lifted, the barrel of his gun aimed at the werewolf’s temple, finger fixed over the trigger, ready to act out his threat at any second. Scott stiffened and his head whipped around to face his former friend, golden eyes dimming to those soft brown eyes Stiles remembered fondly.

The moment Scott’s attention had shifted, Allison reacted. Bringing her leg up, her knee connected with Scott’s side and the werewolf gasped, stumbling back at the precisely placed attack, giving his sister enough room to rear her leg back and slam her boot against his sternum.

Scott wheezed in pain and was kicked a good distance away. Allison dropped to the ground when Scott released her neck, landing on her feet.

Stiles moved with Scott, keeping his gun trained on him as the werewolf staggered back. Allison raised her own gun, having retrieved it from the ground and rotated to the other side. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the arrival of more people, all of them rushing toward Scott, their growls and lowered roars rumbling, sinking into him.

“SCOTT!” A loud voice yelled. “I told you to wait.”

In a flash of fiery red, Lydia appeared at Scott’s side, chest heaving and green eyes wide. Coming to jogging halt, she raised her hands, laying one gently on Scott’s shoulder while lifting the other to face Stiles.

He mentally scoffed at the act.

“I called him.” Lydia said to Scott.

The brown puppy eyed wolf turned around completely to face Lydia and Stiles would have rolled his eyes at the other boy for leaving him so open to an attack when he remembered the others. Risking a glance, Stiles glimpsed the shocked expression on a few members of the Hale Pack.

Erica Reyes, looking as badass as ever, had her golden gazed locked on Allison, her elongated teeth bared.

Boyd was in his human form, his dark brown eyes flickering from Scott and Stiles, wearing a stoic and hard expression. Though he appeared reasonably calm and in control Stiles knew better than to be fooled by that mask.

Beside him, with his eyes flashing at Stiles, was Isaac. His gazed was fixed solely Stiles and though he’s a good distance from the hunter, Stiles noted the way his chiselled jaw flexed the instant their eyes met.

A high growl broke the shocking silence. Stiles’ eyes snapped toward Lydia and Scott, landing on the approaching were-coyote, Malia, her bright blue eyes laser sharp, her mouth opened as she growled menacingly at Stiles and Allison.

Stiles’ finger curled around his gun’s trigger and he glared at the coyote, daring her to make a move.

“Why would you call him?” Malia asked, her teeth evening out but her eyes remained blue as she shifted them onto Lydia.

The Banshee sighed, her gaze scanning them all with a serious expression. “We need help, Malia.” She dropped the hand aimed at the twins.

Stiles hesitated only a beat before he himself lowered his own gun. He straightened up, his weapon clutched in his hands, ready to aim and fire should any of them attack Allison. The others, beside Scott, stood firm in their attacking stance.

“No, we don’t!” Malia stepped forward. “He’s an Argent, remember? He tried to _kill_ Derek.” She spat, her voice heated with anger.

A sharp pain struck him and Stiles glared at the were-coyote.

“We all know that’s not true!” Lydia shouted back at her fiercely, her sharp tone echoing and it seemed to have an instant effect.

Isaac and Erica paused before the golden shade in their eyes faded, revealing cold brown and hurt blue. Swallowing thickly, Stiles turned to his sister. Their hard gaze met and with one small nod, Allison dropped her arm and stepped back, coming to stand by his side.

She tilted her chin up and narrowed her eyes at Malia when the were-coyote snarled. Scott glanced toward Malia, their eyes met and slowly she dropped her stance, straightening her spine and setting her shoulder’s back.

“All right then.” Lydia sighed, shifting to her full height. Her green eyes danced around and Stiles noticed the way they briefly paused and flickered between Stiles and Allison.

Slowly the others drew near, flanking Lydia and Scott; Malia taking Scott’s side, Erica moving to Lydia’s while Boyd and Isaac took their position behind them. All eyes fell on Stiles and Allison, the heaviness of their stares almost crushing Stiles under the weight of their dark history.

He felt the anger and the distrust clear in their unwavering glares.

With a heavy heart, he shifted to look toward Lydia. “You called. I came. Now what?”

The Banshee assessed them, her eyes cautious, her lips parted and her expression stern. With the results of her choices now standing before her; two sides to two different stories coming together in one final twist of fate.

“Now, we try and find Derek.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so before I get into the deep stuff, I would like to clarify something about Rescue Me. This story is heavy based around Family and you will be seeing that a lot between Allison and Stiles and also the Hale Pack.
> 
> There is not a very fluffy story and I will be dealing with the events of War Of Hearts and the aftermath of how it ended. Which would be where the Angst comes in. As you saw in the end, The Hale Pack aren't every welcoming toward the Argent Twins and that will not be changing soon.
> 
> The relationship tag says, Scott/Malia and I want to let you all know that Scallison will not be happening. I do believe that circumstances played a great deal in Scott and Allison's relationship which was why I think they were able to work in Teen Wolf, unfortunately, Allison is not the same Allison as on the show. Both she and Stiles are very different and I could not see Scott and Allison getting together in this story. However, Scott and Malia are a different story. Once again circumstances comes to play in their relationship too and how that came about will be revealed later on.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and if there are any questions feel free to ask. <3


	5. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYONE! MAY THIS YEAR BEING YOU ALL JOY, LOVE AND UNFORGETTABLE MOMENTS. <3 <3
> 
> Thank you all so much for those wonderful comments and kudos. <3

He felt empty. There was a hollowed out structure in his chest where his once self-assured conscience rested. Now, it had been wrenched out, leaving behind a brittle foundation one punch away from collapsing in on itself.

He couldn’t believe so much had changed in so little time. Every firm belief which had held him together these past couple of months had been ripped out, crumbling his once collected self.

Lydia’s voice echoed through his foggy mind.

_“Where’s Laura?”_

_“She and Talia are gone… Peter wasn’t as dead as we’d thought. He came back, killed Talia and then her daughter.” Lydia revealed._

_“What? WHY?”_

_“Power. He thought Talia was still the Alpha, so he killed her. Then he found out Laura was really the Alpha so he killed her too… And then Derek tore out his throat.”_

His stomach turned as he inhaled harshly. He was standing, limbs numb, in the clearing; its water murky, no longer the brilliant shade of turquoise he remembered it to be. The grass was over-grown, hanging limply to the side; lifeless with no breeze to make them dance.

So much had changed and he wasn’t there to stop any of it… They were supposed to be safe!

Death was never meant blacken their lives ever again!

That one twisted yet comforting thought had been what had kept him going and what had given him the strength to get up those first three months. His absence should have lightened up their lives but instead, the world fucked them over once again. Taking without conscience and leaving behind nothing but despair and heartache.

_“Kira left shortly after, as did Jackson.”_

_“We were rebuilding when two weeks ago the werewolves were ambushed. Everyone was shot with arrows and when they came to Derek was gone.”_

Lydia’s robotic recollection struck him more than the painful longing in the eyes of the last remaining members of the Hale pack. She used to be this bright, spunky girl who took life with hard, determined eyes and who gave anyone and everyone the finger if they even tried to divert her from her own drawn out plan.

Now she looked exhausted. Stripped from her bright make-up to neutral colors, she looked nothing like the Lydia Martin he remembered.

 _“We looked everywhere.”_ Scott had said, speaking to Stiles for the first time since their stand-off and Stiles will never forget the internal struggle he could see waging on within Scott on whether or not he should be trusting Stiles. _“And then two days ago, we got a note saying we’d better watch because ‘the predators are now the pray’. It was signed ‘K’ with the Argent crest.”_

“Stiles.”

Turning around at the calling of his name, he looked over his shoulder. The heavy pain in his chest lifted just a bit at the sight of Allison making her way over, her eyes flared with determination. Without a word, she come to stop behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his left shoulder. Stiles closed his eyes, grasping onto the tiny glimmer of hope bubbling within as he lean his head against his sister’s, finding comfort in the fact that he wasn’t alone this time.

He had someone here to help him through all this mess, to guide him in case he strayed off course and to have his back every second.

“You got a plan?” She questioned him softly.

He shook his head.

Neither spoke for a while. The severity of the situation took its torturous time to sink in, slowly bringing him down, crushing him. He knew Kate had taken Derek, but now that he was back in Beacon Hills and the man who once held his heart was in the clutches of a woman out for blood, a woman who had murdered his family and who helped raise Stiles and Allison… The reminder of this sick fact revived the scared little boy he once was.

He could feel the old Stiles, the Stiles who still longed for his dad and his mom and his aunt Katie, fighting within, wanting to come out, to cry and to scream until his throat could no longer work.

Arms tightened around him. “We’ll get him back, Stiles.”

Stiles clenched his jaw, forcing himself to center his raging emotions. “I’m sorry I never told you the whole truth.” He whispered.

“You didn’t need to.” Allison voiced. Soft lips pressed against his cheek in a comforting peck. “I’m gonna stick with you through this and you and I are gonna get him back. We are gonna work with the Hale Pack and we are gonna face our aunt, _together_. Like always.”

The corner of his lips twitch. “Thanks, Ally.”

“I got your back, brother.” She deepened her voice in a true Dean fashion.

He couldn’t help but scoff, allowing a small smile to break through.

 

*

 

Stiles looked around him, taking in the site where the Hale Pack had been attacked. A few arrows littered the dirt ground, the tips of the arrowheads coated with dried blood. All around, random puddles of blood, blackened by the earth, painted the ground. The wind had blown away any shoe prints but as he took everything in, a scene started piecing itself together.

With a small scan, he made his way to the largest pool of blood.

Crouching beside it, Stiles examined the now dried up liquid, following the long bloody drag track that left it. In the distance he saw the indentation of a foot having been dug into the soil, making it clear Derek had fought back in the struggle. There was a spray of blood a few feet away and Stiles knew it was there where they had knocked him out.

This wasn’t a one man job. There was no way his Aunt took down these werewolves without any backup. Not only was it reckless but it was damn near impossible.

Stiles straightened up and made his way to the tire treads a good distance away from the scene. Lowering to get a closer look, he analyzed the tread, trying to establish the make and model of the vehicle. However, the instant all the information was formulated internally, he knew, with a nauseating churn, whom the vehicle belonged to.

He never got rid of that creepy van…

Memories flashed before his eyes. Snippets of the never ending lessons on how to be the perfect solider, mantra’s on the life he was meant to lead and the name he had to wear with pride. His body tensed at the memory of a fist pounding down on him.

Footsteps crunched the ground, followed closely by another. Stiles raised up and turned to face Allison and Lydia as they walked toward him.

“Argent arrows.” Allison confirmed aloud. “I know those arrowheads. Judging by the amount and from what Lydia told us, they never stood a chance. They were meant to be knocked out.”

Stiles glanced at the tire treads, foreboding. “Kate’s not alone.” He met his sister’s eyes. “Gerard’s with her.”

Allison’s body stiffened, her eyes widening in shock and fear, “what?”

Stiles shared her dread, though for entirely different reasons.

Lydia looked between the two. “Who’s Gerard?”

Moving his eyes away from his stilled sister, Stiles answered, his voice betraying his worry. “Our grandfather. He’s the man who ensured the Argent name brought fear to all werewolves.”

“If he’s with Kate, we’re going to have to plan carefully. We’ll need time.” Allison finished for him.

Lydia’s wide green eyes bounced between the twins incredulously. “We do not have _time_!” Her voice was urgent, the anger and the frustration behind it fueling Stiles’ already burning rage.

“You think I don’t know that?!” He asked in a raised voice, glaring daggers at her. Lydia jumped and Allison moved forward as Stiles continued, “I get that we don’t have the time. I understand that my sick fucking family is doing God knows what to Derek right now but we need to plan this thoroughly because one mistake, one misstep and we are all fucked. He could kill us and _will kill_ every single one of you—“

“I understand that, Stiles—“

“Good.” He cut off harshly. “Because you asked for my help and I will help you but I will not walk my sister into a death trap.”

A hand gripped onto his shoulder and he was forcefully tugged back. Stiles blinked in shock, having not realized that in a fit of rage, he had closed the distance between himself and the red head. Allison moved to stand before him, giving him a hard stare, waiting as he took a deep, calming breath.

When Stiles gave her a subtle nod, only then did she drop her hand.

They turned to face Lydia, once against ignoring the way her eyes flicker between the two.

“We’ll do what you want.” The Banshee said to them. “Just… let me be the one to tell the others.”

Allison nodded but Stiles couldn’t respond. The idea of Gerard being involved in this…

His eyes fell on the dark crimson pool of blood, fear and pain coursing through him as his mind flashed to Derek, wondering punishingly what monstrous things his family was doing to him at this very moment…

 

*

 

Stiles walked around the vacant loft, the cold atmosphere sending unkind chills down his spine.

Lydia said Derek used this space to think, to get away from everyone. She’d offered it to Allison and Stiles to use during their stay in Beacon Hills. The ‘nobody wants you around’ was heard loud and fucking clear.

Though it stung, Stiles knew he had no right to expect them to be civil. He betrayed them. He took their trust, their friendship and burned it to ash.

If he were the Hale Pack, he’d want to be as far away from himself as possible too. Malia had growled at him every chance she got while Stiles and Allison had been inside the Hale house during Lydia and Scott’s recount of the past months events. ‘The Tragic Trio’, Erica, Boyd and Isaac, took it upon themselves to stand in the shadows, their arms crossed over the chests, glaring at Stiles, hatred burning in their heated stares.

An hour later and he could swear he still felt it.

Stiles looked around the bare loft, its walls grey and broken down. There was a massive hole on the far right side and Stiles wondered why it was there. The windows were open, without a curtain or cover up in sight, letting in streams of lights, illuminating the cold and lonely essence of the place where Derek came to think...

Allison was busy setting up their sleeping bags on the sunken level of the loft, blatantly ignoring the large bed just like him while Stiles wondered around, searching for anything personal that would give him a hint of what Derek’s life had been like after Stiles was vanquished from it.

He found nothing and his heart sunk at the implication.

“We need to get cleaned up.” His sister spoke up as she dug into her duffel back, pulling out her toiletries.

Stiles nodded numbly and watched Allison disappear up the swirling staircase where Lydia said the shower and bathroom would be. A few minutes later, the pipes rattled and the haunting groan of water rushing through echoed like a ghostly moan through the loft.

The sound made his heart clench. It wasn’t right. The silence and the emptiness of the loft. It felt like a representation of a truth Stiles didn’t want to voice.

He hadn’t known he was moving until he found himself lowering down onto the soft mattress of Derek’s bed. The bed covers felt cold and it caused an icy chill to creep up within him.

Glancing down, Stiles subconsciously reached out, the palm of his hand falling on the rumpled looking pillow. Its fabric felt soft and Stiles curled his fist into it.

At his tug, he caught a glimpse of something black beneath the pillow.

Frowning, Stiles reached under and pulled it out.

His hand curled around the hard device as he stared down, eyes fixed on the phone. Biting down on his lip, he battled with the ‘do or don’t’ racing through his mind. His thumb swiped and the phone unlocked. Stiles exhaled when he saw it wasn’t password protected but then he eyes focused on the display picture and his heart shattered.

There, beaming right at him, was the smiling and grinning face of Talia and Laura with Derek’s brooding visage squashed between them. Laura had an open mouth grin, her eyes squinted shut and Talia’s face was angled toward Derek, her lips twisted, inches from her son’s cheek.

Derek, however unimpressed his expression, had a tiny quirk on his lips. His eyes were closed but it was that small uptake of his lips that made it clear he was happy.

Carefully, Stiles took in Laura and Talia Hale’s matching features with Talia’s resembling Derek’s more closely than her daughter. He remembered the green hued eyes the Hale siblings shared and the dark irises of Talia Hale.

The idea that they were gone, taken from this world, came down onto him like a dropped anchor, pulling him down with it. He recalled their kind eyes and their respectful presence when it was revealed who he truly was.

He will never forget the way the two Hale women had looked at Stiles that horrid day, without any judgement at all.

At the time they didn’t know his true mission but still...

“I’m coming, Derek.” He whispered, solidifying his promise to the Hale Pack, both the living and the dead.


	6. Pivoting Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late Update. I have be super busy and haven't had the time to post.
> 
> Hope you like it <3
> 
> WARNING:: PLOT TWIST!

“And from there we—”

“That won’t work.” Erica interjected once again.

Stiles bit down on his tongue, glaring down at the few collections of blueprints Allison had been able to obtain; buildings Stiles was sure Kate must be holding Derek hostage.

A week had already passed. Seven horrendous days filled with sleepless nights, nightmare consumed sleep and hourly doses of overwhelming, crushing fear that each minute spent planning would be the minute Derek was murdered.

Stiles was angry, beyond pissed. He was running on fumes and every biting remark, every snide comment that was spat at him, poked at his already fragile restraint, slowly breaking the chains holding him together.

“Erica…” Scott sighed as he stood before Stiles on the other side of long rectangle-shaped table, his body hunched over the many blueprints, hands gripping the wooden edges tightly.

“ _What?_ It won’t!” Erica’s blonde curls swung as her head snapped toward Scott, her brown eyes fierce. “You do realize Derek has been with those people for three weeks already, right? Since then we have picked up no trail! The trace of the van idea was a dead end and we’ve been sitting here on our asses planning around an idea that _might_ contain Derek and Kate in the same room.”

Stiles’ hands curled into a tight fist, his white knuckles turning translucent.

“It will work!” Scott insisted. “Stiles is an Argent, he knows—“

“Exactly.” Erica cut him off sharply, her tone biting into Stiles.

At her remark, Stiles exhaled a heavy breath and slowly lifted his head, heavy bags surrounding his now coal black eyes. He gritted his teeth together and glared at Erica as the last of his strength to control his emotions drained away. The she-wolf, feeling the dagger stare, turned to him, raising her arched eyebrows.

The air around them tensed. Stiles pressed his lips together, his dark eyes boring into Erica. He was angry, he was scared and the knowledge that he was literally hunting his own family was chipping away what little sanity he had left.

He hated being here and hated that the fact that he felt deserving of their treatment.

The harsh grinding sound of the loft door opening cut through the tensed air like sharp sword stroke. Every head turned toward the back, vigilant eyes watching as Allison made her way inside, dressed in black skinny jeans, knee lengthened buckled combat books that thudding with unwavering confidence, a flowy shirt beneath a cropped leather jacket, the sleeves rolled up to showcase her anti-possession tattoo. She looked every bit the Argent the Hale Pack feared them to be.

However, Stiles saw passed the strong, guarded expression to the mask hidden beneath and guilt coiled within him.

His sleepless night had had its effect on her too. Waking up to her brother screaming in his sleep was something Stiles had hoped she would never have to go through but it seemed his efforts had been useless. As Allison drew near, her tired yet determined eyes locked with Stiles and she gave him a subtle nodded.

Stiles nodded back and returned his eyes to the plans.

“I think we should go to the old industrial warehouse. Kate worked there. She always said Gerard took her there and not our dad. It would be the obvious place.” Stiles spoke up, hoping to resume to their previous discussion.

“Which is why, she wouldn’t be there.” Erica insisted again.

“Actually…” Boyd’s deep voice said from the far right, and he casted his girlfriend an apologetic glance. “It makes sense. She knows Stiles is here, helping us. She has to know by now that you are in town and she’d know you’d suggest these places, so she’d go to the location you’d expect her to go, thinking you’re rule it out because it’s an obvious choice.”

“That’s fucked up.” Isaac commented.

Stiles raised his eyebrows in a silent agreement.

Allison soundlessly rounded table, coming to stand by his side. Having her here with him had been a great help, but it had also placed the Hale pack in a contradictory predicament. On one hand she wasn’t the one who betrayed them but on the other she was an Argent. On one hand she had nothing to do with their colossally fucked up past but on the other end he had lived with the woman who had kidnapped their Alpha.

“How about this?” Allison spoke up.

She reached for a blue print that was buried beneath all the others, tugging it out and spreading over the rest. It was one of the house Kate had lived in when she’d burned down the Hale house. It was a modest looking building and its layout and location, surrounded by all the other residential houses, made it an impossible place to hold a werewolf hostage.

Stiles frowned at it, before tilting his head to look up at his sister. “Why?”

Her expression remained blank as she shrugged. “Just a hunch. ‘Sides, you have to know there is some secret tunnel leading to an underground bunker in that house.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah…” his eyes fell to the new blueprints, recalling the underground bunker in his father’s home. It wasn’t in the original blueprints and he was sure that if Kate had one, it won’t be on this one either.

He rethought the plan he had constructed with Lydia and Scott, mentally fitting it into the design of the house. He envisioned it playing out in his head and nodded to himself.

“It could work.” Lydia spoke as if reading his mind. “Scott?”

The werewolf didn’t answer and when Stiles glanced up, he found the other boy staring at his sister with narrowed eyes. Instinctively Stiles straightened up, his body complaining at the sudden shift but he buried the pain away.

Glaring with dark brown eyes, both he and Allison tilted their chins up in solidarity as they stare at Scott. It wasn’t until Malia elbowed Scott in the side that the werewolf jerked back to reality. Stiles and Allison raised their eyebrows at him in question.

“Sorry. I was… thinking of something.” He finished lamely.

Flickering his gaze between Malia and Scott, Stiles waited for the shift in the coyote’s expression but she remained unaffected by Scott’s little staring contest with his sister. He wasn’t entirely sure, because he hadn’t seen them be physically affectionate with one another, but he was certain there was something brewing between the two.

He had mentioned this to Allison who agreed with an ‘oh hell yes’.

Lydia rolled her eyes and released an exasperated sigh. “We just have to make a few adjustments to the previous plan and it will be fine, right?” She looked to Allison and Stiles for confirmation.

The twins nodded.

“Yeah. Like instead of Malia and Isaac holding up the rear, it has to be Malia and Boyd.” Allison said.

“' _Has_ to be'?” Erica questioned, placing a clear emphasis on the word ‘has’.

Allison gave the she-wolf a smug smirk. “I’ve been hunting things for years now and I’ve infiltrated nests for months, we know what we’re talking about.”

Erica growled at her.

Stiles narrowed his eyes and glared at the blonde. “Growl at my sister, again. I dare you.” He threatened, holding his burning gaze as golden eyes flashed at him and Boyd shifted closer to Erica.

“Okay, enough!” Scott shouted, holding up a hand toward Erica. “Look, we all have our problems but right now we need to save Derek and that’s all that matters. So can we please just forget about the past for a moment so we can bring him back alive?”

The blonde shifted at the mention of Derek and her werewolf features faded instantly. She inhaled sharply and nodded.

There was a change in the atmosphere in that moment. The truth behind Scott’s word sunk into each member of the Hale Pack, the hostility that had existed like a heavy cloud over the two parties for the last week dissolved.

Stiles felt the tight pressure in chest ease, the weight of their accusatory stares lessening. His mind, clogged by the constant reminder of his mistake and his disgraceful past cleared and Stiles, for the first time in eight days, felt as though he could think freely.

Allison’s calm voice broke the silence. “Do we know when we will be going forth with the plan?”

“As soon as possible.” Lydia said.

“Wednesday.” Malia answered.

Everyone turned to the were-coyote who frowned in return at them. When she didn’t elaborate, Scott raised his eyebrows at her in an imploring manner.

At his stare, she sighed and explained in a very ‘duh’ tone. “It’s the full moon on Friday. We’ll be near uncontrollable. The pull of the moon will strengthen us just enough but not too much that we end up killing Stiles and Allison.”

“She’s right.” Isaac agreed, ignoring the last part of Malia’s answer. “We can be ready by then.”

Stiles nodded, glancing at his sister. Their eyes locked for beat, a silent message was exchanged between them and Allison spoke up. “We need to canvas the area the day before.”

“Why?” Malia asked, dark brows pulled together.

Allison’s eyes fell on her. “To make sure nothing goes wrong. You, Stiles and I can check out the neighborhood, see if there is anything that would come in the way of the mission.”

The Hale pack each shared a glance, their eyes seeking and their expressions cautious. Both Lydia and Scott looked toward the Argent twins and Stiles clenched his jaw to stop himself from snapping.

It’s been a _fucking_ week! He would have killed them all already if that had been his plan all along. The desire to voice those exact words was building, like the growing vortex of a tornado and it was only Allison’s steady presence that gave him the strength to keep his mouth shut.

“Okay.” Lydia nodded.

Allison and Stiles’ flickered over and met, their heart racing in anticipating for the mission and the prospect of facing their family, and what they had to do to ensure their plan succeeded.

One mistake and everything they had worked toward this past week would fall apart.

 

*

 

Wednesday came with weighing suspense.

Last night was filled with blood he swore he could smell and gut twisting roars so loud, it felt like his head would explode. Stiles woke up with sweat dripping down his burning face, Derek’s name lodged in his throat, choking him. Allison, thankfully, remained undisturbed and Stiles found some relief in that.

He had left the small make-shift sleeping area, moved to the furthest corner of the loft and changed into some old clothes. He dropped to the ground with a dizzying mind and began doing push-ups, working out without a pause, training the anxiety out of his body and burning away the lingering fear that chilled his insides. He pushed his body to its limit for hours, never once stopping until the sun had aroused the world around him, illuminating the haunting loft with piercing beams of light.

By the time Allison woke up, Stiles was already showered and dressed and hunched over the planning table where he stood examining the blueprints once more. Allison stumbled out of her sleeping bag, blindly walked over to him with a grumpy expression to press a greeting kiss on his cheek before she made her way up the stairs, having prepared for her own shower the night before.

A few hours later, they were in their Camaro and heading to Hale house.

“You ready for this?” Allison asked, her body turned to him, back pressed against the passenger door. Her eyes were cautious, yet accepting.

Stiles met her stare head on. “Yes.” He stated without a doubt.

They drove straight through the preserve, having now been granted permission to actually enter the housing grounds of the Hale Pack.

It was mid-day when they came to a halt outside the place where Derek had spat at Stiles to go to hell all those months ago. He felt remnants of the anger that’d flooded him on that fateful day resurface as he recalled the cold and lifeless hole that had formed his soul when he looked his father in the eyes and demanded the truth.

Allison and Stiles remained in the car, opting to wait until Malia came out herself. Several minutes later, the front door opened and Scott and Malia walked out. Scott was in the midst of saying something to her and the brunette was nodding along with an expression of utter focus, heeding whatever advice or warning the werewolf was no doubt giving.

They stopped on top of the steps and glanced at the waiting car before turning to each other. Stiles watched as Scott lifted his hands, grasping Malia’s arms, holding onto her as he said something with an urgent countenance to which she gave a tiny smile and a firm nod.

Then Scott leaned forward, cupping her face and pressed a kiss on her forehead before letting her go.

Stiles looked away from the pair, briefly meeting his sister knowing eyes before stepping out of the car to pull his seat back for the were-coyote. As she settled into the back seats, Malia gave them both a stiff nod and Stiles wasted no time to get away from the house.

The car door slammed shut and he turned the Camaro around and sped away, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

Allison moved to turn up the music, a smile forming on the twins’ lips when ‘Back in Black’ flowed through the speakers, both remembering Dean belting out the song, his voice echoing from the showers, knowing and not caring that they could all hear him.

The first time it happened Sam had sighed and said in a mournful tone, “my deepest apologize.”

Malia’s sharp voice was what broke the silence an hour in. “Where’s your Jeep?”

Stiles hid his flinch, looking into the review mirror at her and answered. “In Kansas.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “Okay.”

Allison turned to Stiles with a small frown.

He knew what that look meant and just gave his sister a tiny shrug.

It was clear the moment Allison and Malia met that his sister found the coyote weird, her bluntness and her straightforward questioning knocked his twin momentarily off balance. He had taken the time that night to explain the Malia he knew and her background story.

It was as he explained it that he realized Malia had lost her father. He never thought of Malia as a Hale… as Derek’s cousin. That familial connection was an afterthought most times, adding on to her biography but it was still a connection.

He was tempted to ask the next day how she was doing but the words died in his throat when he remembered he had no right to ask that question.

As they neared their location they would be canvasing, Allison pulled out her phone and tapped away.

Stiles glanced at Malia to see her looking out the window, her narrowed eyes sharp as she wildly looked at the homes with no idea what she was searching for. She took everything in, her coyote side needing to familiarize herself with her surroundings.

They parked a few houses away and Allison took out a pair of binoculars, while Stiles examined the homes nearby.

“So we just wait and look around?” Malia asked, her voice suspicious and mildly bewildered.

Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle as he nodded his head. “Yes, but only for a little while. We’re checking the behavior of the neighbors, ‘cause they could also affect the plan. Allison has been checking them out for two days now, just to see if there are any patterns or habits that would be beneficial to us.”

Malia nodded, adding nothing afterward.

It was three hours of waiting before Allison gave them the go ahead to move to the secret entrance they would be using as their point of infiltration. It was a later constructed underground tunnel that began in the woods and led to Kate’s underground bunker. It was a stupid idea, in Stiles’ opinion but back then Kate had worked for her title as the new leader to proceed after Gerard and wanted to impress her cold hearted father.

She clearly hadn’t any idea that the old bastard had no plans to forgo his role as the Patriarch of the Argent Family.

The trio drove back down the main road that curved around the woods of Beacon Hills. Stiles knew where he was going and advised Malia to remember the route and how she got there. She had growled at him for that and the hunter belatedly remembered Malia had spent a significant part of her childhood in the body of a coyote, hiding and living in those very woods.

She probably knew her way around the land better than anyone.

They came to a stop an hour or so later. Stiles parked the Camaro on the side of the road and got out, looking around; scanning the empty stretch of road on both sides before focusing his eyes on the woods. The trees here were spars, making it easier to see through which was why it was the most dangerous at night.

With the night sky inking up the spaces between the trees one could easily get lost the deeper you went, having no way to go and no continual rows of trees to guide you. Malia lifted her nose up in the air, sniffing as she does so.

Stiles waited with her as she found her ground while his sister took off, walking toward the woods. Allison’s pony-tail swung from side to side as she looked around, stopping only briefly before continuing on. A few minutes later he and Malia were trailing after her, the were-coyote clearly honing in on her supernatural senses if her twitching nostrils were any indication.

Malia and Stiles had just arrived near the trail Allison had suggested they’d take as a starting point for their investigation when he heard it.

A faint swooshing sound cut through the air.

The growing growl tearing through Malia was brought to a heart stopping halt and a loud scream followed just as two arrows impaled themselves into her right shoulder. The coyote growled, her roar dying before she could do anything but she fell to the ground.

Stiles reached behind him, Adrenalin pumping through body with each frantic heartbeat. His hand wrapped around the handle of his gun when a sharp kick was delivered to his gut. Stiles gasped in pain, ducking in time for the right hook that followed.

Stiles blocked the coming attack without thought and shoved her back and away from him.

“Allison, what--!” He shouted, her name just leaving his lips as his sister spun around, the side of her boot connecting with the right side his jaw.

Stars burst in his vision and his body felt weightless for an instant before it collided with the hard ground of the forest floor. The side of his face smashing against the dirty earth, warm liquid filling his mouth.

Stiles groaned, tasting the metallic saliva as the blood spilled over the corner of his mouth. He tried to move, to get up and his body screamed but he fought through the pain, mentally shaking off the dizziness and the sick twist it caused in his gut.

“Well done, Allison.” A cold, shiver sweet voice complimented.

He heard Malia growling nearby.

There was a loud thump, a swooshing sound and Malia fell silence.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, worry and fear burning in him. His mind flashed to Malia, picturing her laying on the floor, wolfsbane coursing through her body.

Three arrows were too much.

It was too close to her heart.

Stiles forced himself up, his ribs aching from the kick, his head throbbing from the fall.

His world spun, tilting at a dizzying angle.

Stiles shook his head, looking over to the two blurry figures. He stumbled forward, blinking rapidly until their features solidified, hardening and forming into sharp jawlines and almond shaped eyes.

Unfocused whiskey brown eyes locked with those gleeful green orbs. He saw the smirk that spread across his aunt’s lips, the crossbow hanging from her hand as she stood there with her hip jetted out, proud and confident in her work.

Stiles turned to his sister as she stood before him, his eyes imploring. He opened his mouth and his sister moved swiftly. There was blur of black and pale skin and her elbow slammed against the side of his jaw.

The world closed in all around him, darkening, and Stiles fell into a cold, deadly abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me.


	7. I'll Stand by You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time has arrived.
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE AMAZING COMMENTS AND THE KUDO'S!! <3 <3

He woke up with a start, pain shooting through his skull like icicle daggers. A groan spilled from his throbbing lips, his chest aching at the vibration.

There was hurried shuffling and heavy thudding of approaching footsteps. All around him he felt the presence of others and out of sheer survival instinct, Stiles shot up, pushing through the sharp hot agony that erupted in his torso and jaw.

Whiskey eyes snapped open. A flash of burning gold filled his view. Hands grabbed onto his clothes. Stiles felt the ground beneath him vanish as he was hauled up, his mind spinning and his body screaming at the sudden jolting motion.

He heard the rough, harsh tearing of his shirt and an angry, pissed off growl reverberated through him.

“Where is she?!” Stiles felt the force of the voice against his skin. The near feral Scott McCall growled in his face, golden eyed with his features transformed; fangs elongated and snapping at Stiles.

“Scott!”

There was a streak of blonde before hands appeared around Scott, ripping him away from Stiles. The moment he was released, Stiles dropped to the ground like dead weight, watching with a numbed mind as Erica and Isaac pulled and held the raging werewolf back, flashing their own eyes at him.

“Where the hell is she, Stiles!” Scott roared down at the hunter.

Images flashed before Stiles’ blank eyes. He remembered the echoing thud of Malia hitting the floor, the sicking thump of the arrows impaling her body. He saw his sister, the blurred shape of her boots striking him down.

Gleaming hazel green eyes claimed his mind.

_Kate…_

“What?” Lydia asked in shock, appearing out of nowhere, her kind, apple green eyes wide and filled with terror. “Did Kate ambush you?”

All eyes glared down at him, pinning him with their heated, hateful stares. His stomach churned as bile raised in throat.

Stiles thought of Allison, and it was like she was punching him all over again.

He thought of Malia, now trapped with Derek and his psychotic aunt.

“We were canvasing the area.” Stiles found himself explaining, mind hazed by the throbbing pain that seemed to pulse through the entire length of body, each throb more painful than the next. “We were just near the hidden entrance when… Malia got taken down by arrows.” He shook his head, his heart tightening at the torturous agony he knew the were-coyote must be going through.

Scott growled and jerked toward Stiles. The hunter instinctively jumped to his feet, realizing now just how vulnerable his floored position was. Stiles’ eyes flickered down to where his knife laid inches from his feet. He no longer felt the familiar weight of his gun on the small of his back and his hands twitched for his blade.

He was wide open for attack and had no weapons to protect himself.

“ _God!_ ” Scott exclaimed, struggling against Erica and Isaac’s hold, growling and flashing his eyes threateningly. “Fuck! Let me go! I told you!” He screamed. “I told you she was hiding something! I could smell the deceit on her and you all took his _fucking_ word that she was on our side.”

Stiles stared at Scott in disbelief. “You knew?”

Scott roared at Stiles, his eyes narrowed menacingly and his nose scrunched up to reveal those deadly fangs. Stiles didn’t stand a chance, he knew that, but if the Hale pack turned on him, if they tore him to shreds like he knew they had been craving to do, he wasn’t going down without a fight.

But he couldn’t give up… not now.

“So what now?” Lydia asked, trepidation heightening her voice. “We don’t have any idea where they could be! Kate is obviously not going to use her secret hide out now that she knows it’s been compromised. She has Malia, and Allison, who was here this entire time we were planning—“

“No.”

Heads snapped over at the sound of Stiles’ voice, so clear and calm. His unaffected facade cloaked the inter turmoil waging within. He hated having once again been the cause of their pain. Looking around him, Stiles saw the visible tremble of their hands as the wolves’ fought to remain strong, to not lose control. Scott had stopped struggling against his pack’s hold, and his eyes were fixed on Stiles, desperate for a solution to get Malia back.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Erica growled at bruised hunter.

Isaac stared head on, his chiselled jaw flexing as he too waited.

Stiles, knowing words would mean nothing to them, silently he reached into his leather jacket. Boyd snarled behind him and Stiles forced himself to remain level headed. Lydia narrowed her eyes in suspicion, watching his every move carefully.

As he pulled out his cell phone, the angry stares dropped, giving way for momentary confusion.

“What are you gonna do with that? Call Allison and ask where she’d taken Malia?” Erica bit at him.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Of course, I’m not call her… but I am going to trace her cell phone.”

 

*

 

The radiating agitation of the Hale Pack felt like a heavy cloud of static air looming over him. He could feel their energy humming, everyone anxious to get Derek and Malia back safely. His heart hammered and hay-wired nerves were fueling the guilt burning through him as his mind echoed Malia’s painful scream over and over like a torturing record.

She wasn’t supposed to be taken!

Anger oiled the flames of his self-loathing and together… Stiles felt uncontrollable. He wanted to end it all. He wanted to put a bullet into Kate’s head, so badly. Just take her out of this world where she could do no more harm. If she wasn’t his blood, if she wasn’t human, Stiles knew he wouldn’t think twice of doing exactly that.

That dead certainty scared him sometimes, but then he thought of Dean and Sam.

They were considered monsters once upon a time too, and they fought for the good in this world. The Winchester’s dug deep into themselves and held onto what little light they had left, honing it, using it to do what was right, saving the world and each other without a second thought.

As his classical Camaro sped down the long stretch road, heading straight toward an abandoned warehouse where Allison’s tracker said she was, Stiles allowed the icy, empty hole to grow, filling his body. Behind him Scott raced on his motorbike, his helmet over his head and yet Stiles knew the werewolf was glaring at him through the visor.

Lydia, Erica, Boyd and Isaac were with him in the Camaro and for once Stiles didn’t give a shit what they thought. Their ones piercing stares now bounced off him.

He was on a hunt to rescue two supernatural creatures whom were innocent. It didn’t matter that it was Derek and Malia. It didn’t matter that it was Kate he was hunting. All he knew was that he wasn’t walking out that warehouse without them… _Any_ of them.

“How much longer?” Lydia questioned him sharply, running a hand through her hair anxiously.

Stiles, gritting his teeth together, took a sharp right turn, entering an off the track road. The ground crumbled and crunched beneath his tires, picking up dirt and causing the werewolves to sniff in the back seat. Minutes later, the warehouse came into view.

It was a large, worn down structure, its corrugated walls rusted and sun-burned. With the sun sinking in the distant horizon, the building appeared daunting. Graffiti littered the side of the ironed walls, most of the window were smashed open but it wasn’t the building Stiles cared for.

Stiles braked and his car came to a sudden halt. He didn’t want to alert his aunt of their arrival.

“Okay,” Stiles nodded to Lydia who stared up at the warehouse with determined features. “There has to be a secret passage somewhere. Kate won’t be keeping Derek and Malia so out in the open. We find it and we’ll find them.” His eyes sought out Lydia’s. “You feel anything weird?”

The Banshee looked at the building with a haunted eyes. Three suspending heart beats passed and she shook her head. “No.”

Stiles took in a deep, shaky breath, forcing the tight knot in his chest to loosen. The moment Lydia climbed out of the Camaro, someone shoved at the back of his seat and he did the same, Erica and the other’s wasting no time to file out after him.

Moving with determined, steady legs, Stiles headed to the back of the Camaro to pop the trunk. Lifting the false bottom, he searched through his secret compartment. Stiles glanced over the ingredients for a spell (Something he and Allison weren’t sure they’d ever have to use), a large folder containing information on every supernatural creature Dean and Sam had ever encountered. His eyes landed on his guns and the ammo he kept in the wooden box.

Silver bullets or wolfsbane bullets…?

Without much thought, Stiles reached for both, checking his clips before slipping them between his jean and the leather of his belt. Cocking his silver Colt, his body thrummed with Adrenalin rushing through him at the heavy, strong pull of the barrel as he drew it back, and the sweet click it made as it snapped into place.

“I don’t trust you.” Said a soft voice behind him.

Stiles bit down on his tongue and moved to close the compartment, slamming the trunk shut before he turned around to stare at Scott with a cold, unaffected mask. “I don’t need your trust. I am here because Lydia asked for my help. I am here to help Derek and to make sure you all don’t lay a claw on my sister.”

His stomach turned at the thought Allison and her being alone with Kate. He remembered the sick twist that had churned his gut when he’d first seen her months after his time in Beacon Hills, taking in her short, shoulder length hair with fear and a heightened need to protect his sister, to get her as far away from their aunt as humanly possible.

“She betrayed us.” Scott stated firmly, his voice deepened with fury. “Just like you did.”

Stiles clenched his jaw and voiced nothing.

He turned around and walked away from Scott McCall, forcing himself to focus on the mission, their plan and the next step. He knew better than to plan ahead and expect it to play out perfectly but he still needed a plan, should any members of the Hale pack chose to exact their revenge on the Argent twins, both of whom had now stabbed them in the back.

Stiles’ eyes fell on Erica and she nodded for him to come closer. Stiles glanced behind him, saw that Scott was just a few steps away and followed after the blonde she-wolf as she vanished around the side of the building. Huddled around a trapped door were the rest of the rescue party.

Stiles’ fingers curled tightly around the handle of his gun; it’s cold, hard metal a cooling weight to his otherwise burning soul. It grounded him, centered him and sometimes… he didn’t know what that said about him as a person.

He walked over to them, waiting a beat as they all stepped aside. Slowly, Stiles reached down and lifted the door up by an inch, ducking his head below to look for any blinking red lights.

“Clear.” He heaved and with the help of Isaac, the doors were lowered silently onto the dirt covered ground.

Lifting his gun up before him, Stiles turned to Lydia, the only person who wasn’t looking at him like he was scum from the lowest part of hell.

“I’ll go first. You guys follow after me and watch out for any motion detectors.”

Lydia’s green eyes flickered around her at her pack before they returned to Stiles to give him a strong nod. He took the first wooden step, slowly, cautiously, his eyes tracing the walls, scanning every corner and every edge.

The tunnel seemed endless and the air smelt stuffy. Kate hadn’t used this particular place in a long time that much was clear, and as Stiles walked further in, wondering deeper into his family’s twisted version of ‘proper’ treatment to supernatural creatures, his body shivered, and shame pouring over him.

He tried shaking it off, but he couldn’t.

Stiles had grown up knowing about these places. He had sat with his family as they openly discussed how they’d hunted down a rogue pack, taken them in and questioned them to find out where others like them were…

He had been excited to enter in his family’s legacy. He had been proud to be Stiles Argent.

A roar reverberated through the long, dimly lit tunnel. It was an earth shattering force that froze Stiles in his tracks. He felt its imprint by the goose bumps that spread across his arms. He felt the pain that it carried sink into him.

The other’s growled behind him and Stiles clenched his jaw, his eyes flashing dangerously. He hurried in his steps, forcing his body to move, to not stop as another scream traveled through the hallway, her gut wrenching cry of agony tearing at him, ripped at his cracking heart and damaged soul.

His footsteps thudded against the floors, heightened by the ten other’s that followed in his path. Stiles rounded a sharp turn, his gun whipping around with him. He paused and scanned the new hallway and his alerted gaze fell on a familiar sliding door.

A loud, chest rumbling, scream erupted from within, mending with the crackling of electricity.

“Little louder, Derek. I don’t think your friends heard you.” A sickening sweet voice came from behind the door.

Before any of the others could so much as blink, Stiles had the door handle gripped tightly in his hand, the sharp edges biting into his skin as he shoved it open. The grating sound of the door sliding was like a harsh crack, cutting through the painful cries, the laugh that followed and the scent of electricity that surrounded them all.

Heads whipped around.

Kate turned, her hazel green eyes bright with excitement. Her smirk faltered when she saw Stiles but it soon grew when her eyes fell on the wired presence of those behind him.

He saw the blurred shape of Derek behind Kate, his arms lifts and his hands cuffed to the iron-gate behind him. Stiles wanted to look at Derek, to take him in but he was too afraid to remove his eyes from his aunt.

“Malia.” He heard Scott say behind him, his voice a coated blend of pain and relief.

“Scott…” She whispered back weakly.

Kate’s smirk formed into a mocking pout as she cooed. “Hey, Stiles. I see your friends haven’t killed you yet. Pity…”

His gun, steady in his hands, was aimed right at a woman he didn’t recognize at all. Movement from the right corner caught his eyes and Stiles’ gaze flickered to Kate’s right, falling on the strong, tall form of his sister as she stood in the shadows, eyes narrowed, with a gun of her own pointed toward his group.

Noticing where his eyes had slid too, Kate let out a throaty, patronizing laugh. “Aw, Stiles…” She sighed with sympathy. “I always told you your sister was smarter than you.” Her eyes softened. “See there’s a reason the Argent women run things. We’re smart and we know whom to side with during times of war. That’s exactly why Allison was trained to be a leader and you… an obedient, mindless soldier.”

Stiles returned his cold, hard eyes to Kate and smirked. “You know, it’s funny,” his lips curled in disgust. “With all the yammering and bullshit quips, you and dad seem to forget that Allison and I… _are nothing like you two_.”

He forced out slowly, deliberately. He felt the shift behind him and allowed his eyes to slide over to Allison as his sister slowly turned around, her gun steady and firm as she pointed it at the back of their aunt’s head.

Kate tensed up, years of hunter instincts letting her know of the sudden danger. Her eyes flickered casually to the side before they returned to Stiles’ smug smirk.

“I should have known.” She scoffed mildly, shaking her head.

“Maybe that’s why Gerard never put you in charge.” Stiles retort coldly. “Scott, Lydia, help them down.” He glared at Kate. “Hands up.”

The Hale pack broke away from him. Some rushed over to Malia while other’s gravitated toward their Alpha. Stiles fixed his eyes on Kate, watching her every move, waiting for the moment when she’d attack.

As the others rushed around, the pained groans of Derek and Malia broke the silence like shards of shattered glass. His aunt shifted and Stiles glared at Kate as she looked over her shoulder, finding clear joy in the sight of Derek dropping to the floor the moment his shackles were broken off, falling right into Boyd and Isaac’s outstretched arms.

His heart tightened at the sight of the sweat coating the Alpha’s bare chest, the way he winced at even the smallest shift, eyes squinting shut and teeth gritting together. Anger coursed through Stiles and his finger slipped to the trigger, the tip of his forefinger fitting into the alluring metal curvature, urging him to add the needed pressure. To do it. To finish it, right there.

His tensed up body shook at the internal battle waging on. Stiles looked toward his sister. Dark brown eyes met his and Allison took a measured step forward, raising her arm, keeping the gun aimed right at their aunt’s head.

“Turn around. Face the gate.” Allison ordered.

With a small, exhausted sigh, Kate rolled her eyes and did as she was told. Her gaze tracked Derek as Boyd and Isaac moved him away. Her pink glossed lips tugged into a dirty smirk that had Stiles shivering with disgust.

“I enjoyed the company, handsome.” She flirted at Derek before turning to face the gate completely. “I never thought I’d say this but I am really disappointment you, Allison.”

His sister, having turned along with Kate, took two steady steps back. “Good, because I’d be pretty disgusted with myself if I had your stamp of approval.”

Stiles glanced behind him and his heart stuttered when pale green eyes met his; darkened by his blown up pupils, they displayed the confusion and the shock through the exhaustion and pain.

His eyes were swimming with various emotions, cutting into Stiles as he naively sought for some spark of happiness. But all the hunter saw was the pain that his family had once again inflicted on Derek, and the shock, that the man whom Derek had demanded to never see again, was standing before his very eyes.

“I had hoped better for the Argent’s who trained with the Winchester’s.” Kate’s nostalgic laced voice broke through.

Frustration burned through his vein and Stiles spun around, facing his aunt again. He heard the others shuffle out, their feet scrapping against the floor, Derek and Malia grunting as they were taken away from their torture prison.

The room reeked of the metallic scent of blood. Stiles eyed the splattered drops of crimson which stained the floors beneath their feet. Bile threatened to rise in his throat. His skin crawled and his insides turned as his blood thirsty eyes bore into the back of Kate’s dark blonde head.

“Let’s go,” Allison said beside him, her voice a calming force to the storm raging on within.

“Yeah, by all means, go. But make no mistake, I am coming after Derek. He killed your mother, Stiles and yet you protect him.” Kate stated in a matter of fact tone.

Stiles’ heart ached as he said, “Mom killed herself, because she was too prideful to see that there was more to being a werewolf than just fangs and glowing eyes. That’s not anyone’s fault.”

“Except the Alpha who bite her. Now Peter Hale killed his niece, and I’m getting my Hale. I don’t care which one.”

Stiles stalked forward, “you’ll have to get through us first.” Blinded by the building fury burning through him, Stiles lifted his hand and slammed the butt of the gun against the back of Kate’s head, ignoring pain it caused him to watch his aunt crumple to the ground by his hands.

His eyes tracked her descend and as he stared down at the motionless body, Stiles felt his sister’s body brush against his as she came to stand by his side, their eyes boring down on their aunt. Slowly, they turned toward each other, their nervous eyes meeting; both of them feeling the weight of their actions settling on their shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so, I know this took a turn.
> 
> And I struggled to make this as dramatic and gripping as possible but honestly, these two chapters were trying because I had to write it in a sense that there was more to the plan but also not giving the plan away which was hard because I was writing from a 'known' perspective.
> 
> I hope I did it justice but I am just glad these two chapters are done. They were a pain in my ass.
> 
> *
> 
> Also, just to clear somethings up and to let you all know where my mind was when writing this, I wanted to point out that through Stiles' inner thoughts, you all might have noticed that he cared more about Allison and Malia being alone with Kate (A hint that he didn't consider Allison a traitor). And that when Allison turned the gun on Stiles, he said 'group', another indication that it wasn't pointed at him, was just in his general direction to give the illusion that she was pointing the gun at him.
> 
> Those are the hints that I left around to show that Allison wasn't really the bad guy. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your continued support!!!


	8. The Rival Within

A day passed without a word from the Hale Pack.

Allison and Stiles had left the bleak, haunted walls of Derek’s loft like ghosts in the night, packing up their bags and all their belongings, returning to their car.

The cold weather outside chilled the inside of the four wheeler. Its cramped size made it impossible to move around much but they had long since gotten used to it, the uncomfortable seats nothing more than a minor inconvenience. The Camaro was their home now (as Dean and Sam had prophesied). It was a sad thought, and Stiles and Allison had gotten ill-stricken silent when that hard realization fell over them one cold, winter’s night.

They had had no money at the time, not enough gas to risk driving to Kansas and the never ending downpour of snow hindered the consideration of leaving their car to find a gas station. Allison had taken the back seat that night (And it would soon become her designated sleeping spot) and Stiles claimed the passenger seat, leaning back as far as he could to get comfortable.

To drown out the dreadful silence, they had spoken the entire night. Rehashing and recalling fond memories, laughing to warm up their shivering bodies. Stiles and Allison had spoken without thought until their words turned into indecipherable mumbling before slowing fading into soft, rhythmic breathing.

That night had turned out to be the first of many to come.

“So… that was Derek Hale?” Allison’s teasing voice broke through the soft, upbeat tune of ‘Rolling Stone’ by Hurts. She paused, drawing out the silence for a beat. “He’s hot.”

Stiles groaned aloud. “Oh, God.”

“What?” His sister laughed. “He is. And you should have seen him. The way he spoke back to Kate, never missing a beat, never letting her get the upper hand. Sure, he was glaring so strongly at me, I felt like I was being dosed in hellfire, but still, Stiles…” She trailed off with a dazzled sigh.

He turned his head, looking over to her in the back seat. Allison was laid out horizontally over the backseat, a pillow cushioned between her and the door, facing him with a sagacious glint in her chocolate shaded eyes. Her dark brows were arched up playfully, a cocky smirk plastered on her face.

“You got taste.” She compliment after a whimsical beat.

“Oh, shut up!” Allison chuckled softly, her expression appearing relaxed though her eyes ran over his features. “How’s the lip?”

Subconsciously his tongue swiped over the healing cut. “It’s okay. My ribs are a little sore and I got a bruise on my jaw but you didn’t do much damaged.”

Dark brows furrowed together in displeasure. “I’m sorry. I had to draw blood, or else she wouldn’t have bought it—“

“Hey,” Stiles cut her off with a sharp shake of the head. “I know this, sis. And I’m fine. Promise.” He gave her a hard look. “Besides, we both know you have been craving to win a round with me. What with me beating you the last six times.”

“Oh, screw you!” She kicked the back of his seat.

Her laughter was a sweet sound that soothed the burning sensation growing in the pit of his stomach. It was a painful, twisted version of fluttering butterflies that only sped up whenever his mind wondered back to two days ago. Stiles been unable to get his mind off the fact that Derek Hale was back.

Stiles had seen him with his very eyes.

And now, that he’d done what he came to do, Stiles was on the edge of a bridge he had dreaded crossing. All this time, he had had one goal in mind. Find Derek. Get him back.

He had worked through his days with that one monologue circling his thoughts, successfully ignoring the inevitable aftermath that would undoubtedly occur. He had refused to dwell on the actions that would soon follow after his hunt was over. He had refused to think about what he would say and how he would deal with having that carefully cemented wall he’d built around his feelings for Derek being smashed open.

Stiles had been so focused on getting his sister back, on saving Malia and Derek that he’d forgotten. He’d forgotten what it felt like to live with a damaged heart. Every beat was an aching reminder of how broken the person it was keeping alive truly was.

“So…” Allison sounded out, her tone light but loaded with question. “Have you thought about what you’d say to him?”

Stiles turned around and glared at her. Sometimes it sucked having a twin. Especially a twin sister who refused to give him an out and who ensured that Stiles never wallowed in his own misery, forcing him to face his problems head on.

He remember his motto of: _Ignoring a problem until it goes away_... It was a good way to live until his six year old sister fucked it up by bringing up the fact that his finger was indeed broken and that no amount of ignoring would heal it. It had been her fault anyway. What was she thinking, jumping on his back when he wasn’t looking?

“Yeah…” Allison rolled her eyes. “I thought as much.”

“Okay, fine, Ms Psych Degree, please bless upon me your all powerful wisdom. Tell me, how I am going to speak to a man I had planned to kill only to fall in love with him then break his heart on top of all that lovely cluster-fuck?” He asked, sarcasm dripping from his self-deprecating tone.

Leather groaned as Allison shifted. “You know, you’re gonna have to get over that someday.”

Whiskey eyes widened in shock and Stiles’ lips parted to gape at his sister. “Excuse me?”

“What?” His sister gave an insouciant shrug. “You were given false information. You were led to believe he was the bad guy. For God’s sake the man killed his own uncle and if he is gonna look down on you for trying to avenge mom, then he can suck his own dick.” She jeered, ignoring his responding snort. “I mean it, Stiles. Let it go. You made a mistake but you stopped yourself, ‘cause that’s who you are. You’re the guy who would turn this whole world upside down to find the truth and stop something horrible from happening. Which is what you did.”

A burning lump formed in his throat as his sister’s defensively protective eyes bore into his.

“Now, I stood by while those assholes throw your past back in your face. I let you deal with it on your terms but I will not let you kick yourself down because of other’s misguided opinion of you.” She raised her eyebrows sharply at him, enforcing her words.

Stiles, trying to swallow down his growing emotions at the passion in which his sister defended him, turned to look out in front of him and away from her confident eyes. He took in the twinkling stars winking up above him through the windshield window. A small smile tugged on his lips when he remembered the day Sam and Dean had taken him and Allison out one night after a particular hard hunt for some stargazing.

It was just a small gesture but Stiles, through that entire time he remembered feeling so love… so cared for. For that whole night he felt like a different person; like he wasn’t an Argent with a bloodied carnage left to him by his family as path to follow. The Winchester’s had that ability. They made you feel like were one of them and as though you’d never be alone again.

Allison sighed softly behind him. The leather seats squeaked under her weight as she moved around to get more comfortable. Without glancing back, Stiles slipped his arm through the space between the front seats. He only waited a breath before a pinkie wrapped around his, giving it one solid, strong squeeze.

 

*

 

 _ ** >[09:45 AM] Lydia:**_ _Can you meet us in Derek’s loft?_

 

The knot in his gut coiled tighter as he stepped out of the Camaro along with his sister. He had received the text this morning while having some burgers and fries for breakfast with Allison. Upon reading it, he had ended up choking on his strawberry shake, drawing way to much attention to them, which Allison didn’t help by laughing her ass off as she passed him her water.

Allison easily fell into step beside him and Stiles caught a glimpse of her hand dropping from her back. Her knife, he knew, was sheathed against the small of her back, as it always was. Dressed in an army green tank top and mid-waist cropped leather jacket, Allison had purposefully changed into to ensure any Shifter who saw her knew she was armed.

God, she really loved rubbing people the wrong way.

Stiles’ sweaty hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket; his very own armor he wore whenever entering enemy’s line.

And that was exactly what Derek’s loft was to him.

He didn’t know if the werewolf was with his pack but Stiles was ready for whatever the Hale pack threw his way. After last night’s verbal ass kicking from Allison, he had woken up with an exceptionally light conscience.

He’d mulled over her words as he scarfed down his burger and the more he heard her voice, the better he felt. It didn’t excuse what he’d done, there was no coming back from that, but he knew now he needed to let his past mistakes go.

_Whatever crap you got going on in that head of yours, whatever crap is keeping you up at night, you need to forget it, okay? If you can’t fix it, forget about it._

Who knew Dean was a secret Yoda?

The Argent’s took the barely functioning elevator up, their brown eyes closed off and hardened when they stepped out minutes later. Raised voices could be heard from within the loft, carrying and becoming clearer the closer the Argent twins got.

“Yell at me again, McCall!” Erica’s voice shouted. “I will fuck you up!”

“Back off!” Stiles heard Malia yell, a growl vibrating through her tone.

Allison and Stiles shared a sharp glance with one another. A few steps in and they came to a screeching halt to a shocking scene. Their eyes widened incredulously over to where Isaac stood between Scott and Erica, his hands up, holding them off. Boyd had his arms wrapped around his girlfriend, his head turned toward her.

Scott, with Malia by his side, growled and snarling at the blonde she-wolf. The tension suffocated the air and Stiles could feel it enclosing around him the moment he stepped through the door. With his claws curled, ready to strike, Scott shifted into an attacking stance when Erica made a move to launch, Boyd stumbling forward with her in his dire effort to hold her back.

Allison’s arm brushed against his as she took a cautious step forward. In that moment, as their intruding presence became known, every eye snapped toward the door, flashing their brilliant golden hue and one particularly glaring bright blue.

Scott blinked. Erica growled.

“ _Enough!_ ” A powerful voice reproached.

Stiles’ heart clenched when a towering built form materialized seemingly out of nowhere. He stood behind the large table, his presence boring over the members of his pack. No red eyes were require to get their instant, unwavering attention. His voice, deep and strong, had a rough pull that demanded to be heard.

His nostrils flared. Green eyes ran over every single Shifter before they snapped toward him. Stiles’ whiskey eyes, once hardened cold, flickered to life with a stubborn glint in them when they met Derek’s, a firm refusal to be intimidated. Stiles’ jaw flexed and Derek narrowed his eyes dangerously.

A cold silence fell over them all. Everyone waited with bated breaths.

Stiles knew better than to speak. He had nothing to say because there was nothing to be said. Whatever happened next would determine whether he and Allison would lengthen their stay here. Their bags were already packed, their Camaro at the ready should Derek kick them out of his territory.

His chest tightened at his heart’s loud throbbing pulse; each beat revived yet pained him.

“Stiles…” A calming voice spoke, breaking the foreboding silence. “Thanks for coming.”

The hunter broke eye contact with Derek in favor of looking at Lydia. He nodded, both in greeting and gratitude for her intervention. He would not have enjoyed having to explain his presence like before.

“Why is he here?” Malia asked then. Her tone, however forward, held no bite. It was a simple inquiry and Stiles found comfort in that.

Erica and Isaac, like two Dark Knights ready to defend their King, had moved toward the table and leaned back against it, a subtle yet visible display of support to their silent Alpha, whose eyes remained fixed on Stiles and Allison. His sister, he knew, was most likely staring him down and though he’d prefer for her not to have a staring contest with Derek, he didn’t really have the heart to signal her to stop.

“We still need his help.” Shock flooded Stiles and his eyes snapped over to the blonde, blue eyed beta who had spoken. His usually sarcastic voice was factual. Their eyes met and Isaac’s chiselled jaw flexed, but something within those baby blue orbs eased a fraction of the tension within Stiles.

“Well, we already got it.” Erica remarked coldly.

Stiles swallowed thickly, forcefully speaking the words he knew he needed to say. “I get you all don’t trust me.” He saw Lydia shift in his peripheral, her posture relaxing a bit. “And I am sorry for what I did to you all. No amount of apologies can ever express that---“

“Yeah, well we don’t want your fucking apologies.” Erica sneered with distain.

The fire in his chest flared up and Stiles’ sharp gaze snapped to the right, glaring right at her. He opened his mouth, the anger taking hold as he got ready to tell Erica just where she could shove her opinion when he felt Allison’s body brush against his arm as his twin took a solid step forward.

All eyes fell on her and she tilted her chin up in a daring challenge.

“Let’s get something clear here.” Allison paused with purpose, her sharp tone traveling, assertive as ever. “My brother and I came here to get _him_ ,” she jerked her chin up, toward Derek, “back. I came here because he wanted to help you guys. Not because he had to, because he _wanted_ to. Now I stood by and watched as you all insulted his intentions but that’s gonna stop, right here and right now.”

Erica growled at her, her upper lip drawing back. Stiles wanted to move, to stand strong with his sister but he knew Allison had been itching to speak her mind. And it would be really fuckin’ stupid of him to allow that anger to burn longer inside her. If she were to snap at the wrong time because of some untimely remark, one of these werewolves would end up with a bullet in their leg.

“You asked for our help. If you don’t want it then fuck you and goodbye.” She gave them a sharp smirk. “But if Stiles and I are going to be staying here, if we are going to be helping you in trying to defeat _our_ family, then the respect between us has to be mutual.” Her dangerous dark eyes danced around, looking at them all. “If not, then you can shove your opinion of us up your asses. Make sure you have enough land space to bury your pack when Gerard kills them all, Derek.”

Ice filled his veins at that taunting remark.

A deafening roar tore through the pin-drop silence. Stiles reacted instinctively, jerking forward without thought he got his sister’s wrist in a vice-grip just as she reached for her knife.

Derek leaped across the room, his crimson eyes glowing with fury. Stiles pulled Allison back and a chest brushed against his as Derek landed before him, Alpha eyes burning into Stiles’.

His stomach tightened and flipped but Stiles hardened his glare. Stiles inhaled sharply only for his chest to constrict when he felt the heated touch of another against it. He shoved his lingering feelings away, blatantly ignoring the pang that struck his heart at having Derek inches from his touch. He fingers curled around Allison’s arm, holding onto her.

The Hale pack shifted forward.

A standoff occurred in that heated moment. A hurricane of emotions swirled around within him. Every thought, every wish, every idea he had ever contemplated fought to take hold, urging him to listen as Stiles closed himself off.

He had an Alpha before him. An Alpha whom had been moment’s away from attacking his sister.

Red eyes bled away, revealing conflicted green-grey irises. Stiles gritted his teeth, holding onto his waning resolve.

“Derek…” A hand came into view, landing on his shoulder.

Stiles’ whiskey eyes snapped over to Malia standing behind her cousin. A flicker of an unreadable emotion filled Derek’s eyes before he looked way, turning to the were-coyote. She gave him a small tug and Derek moved back willingly, his chest heaving the moment he was out of Stiles’ space.

Allison twisted her arm out of his hold and Stiles uncurled his fingers. He stepped back, feeling the gentle brush on the side of his body. Stiles casted his sister a hard look to which she rolled her eyes.

Vexation coursed through him and Stiles exhaled to stop himself from reacting. She went too far. She had to know that.

“This isn’t gonna work if we don’t work together.” Malia voiced in her signature matter of fact tone. “We have to stop Kate and Gerard and as much as I hate to admit it, we do need their help.”

Stiles tossed a glare over his shoulder before Allison could even consider opening her mouth. Her strong jaw flexed as she gritted her teeth together. She pinned Stiles with a particular look that told him she’ll have his ass later for pushing her behind him like that.

With a steely expression, Stiles allowed his gaze to return to Derek, looking at the man before him. It was hard to believe Derek was only 19 years old. Due to his Alpha spark, he had filled out significantly, his muscles straining against the tight material of his black shirt. His once clean shaven face was covered in a trimmed beard, aging him even further.

Stiles was sure that even with the one year age different, Derek still looked older than him. Fuck, had it only been 6 months…?

As everyone in the room waited for Derek’s response, silence descended like a weighing cloud over their heads. One answer would determine the coming days and though Stiles knew he would do anything to help the Hale Pack, he wasn’t sure which answer he’d prefer.

He wanted to stay but at the same time he wanted to get as far away from this place as possible. Though his indiscernible need to take down Kate and Gerard was damn near consuming, he was unsure how he’d handle having to go up against the people who’d raised him and Allison. The people who taught them everything they knew and who, in Stiles’ case, was the reason he was the person he was today.

Derek’s deep voice broke the silence. “Okay.”

Blazing pale green eyes locked with his, glaring, and Stiles clenched his jaw. He told himself the pain in his chest was due to the upcoming battle.


	9. The Road to Acceptance

“So tell me again, why _we_ are the ones walking around the woods at night when there are werewolves who can do this?” Allison asked, her voice dripping with over-exaggerated exasperation.

Stiles rolled his eyes, his throat itching to release words he had been swallowing down for the last hour. The full moon was sky high, its silvery beam lighting up the Beacon Hills’ preserve, providing ample light to an otherwise darkened land.

Silently, Stiles did a quick scan, recalling the mental map he’d constructed in his head. The fallen leaves crunch under his boots as he walked over to a nearby tree, shaking the can of spray paint in his right hand before releasing white liquid until it formed a solid dot on the large trunk.

“Oh, come on.” Allison groaned childishly behind him. “You can’t still be pissed at me for this morning.”

He watched as she jogged over from the corner of his eyes, her loose princess curls bouncing with each step she took. He wanted to smile as a wave of fondness washed over him, but he held onto his mask of validated annoyance.

“Stiles!” A body jumped in front of him, and he stumbled to a halt just seconds from bumping into her. Chocolate brown eyes met his, glimmering with faux- innocence. “I said I was sorry.”

A loud snort broke free at that. “No, you didn’t.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly. “But I’m all ears now.”

A sharp jaw jetted to the side and no sound left his twin. A stubborn glint sparked in her eyes as she met Stiles’ hard stare head on. Stiles and Allison lifted their chins in defiance when neither looked away, holding eye contact through the burning sensation of drying eyes as tears slowly began welling in their eyes.

The corners of Allison’s lips tugged and Stiles clenched his jaw as he watched a glistering film cover his sister’s right eye.

“I got all night, Ally-Bee.” Stiles mocked in hopes that it would get her to crack.

Dimples made their appearance and Stiles hissed in victory, fist pumping the air. The once defensively setback shoulders slackened at the use of her childhood nickname. Stiles knew he should be pissed at her, but it was Allison and that made it almost impossible for him to hold grudges against her.

Hell, once as a kid, Stiles had accidentally pulled off her doll’s head in a stubborn battle of tug of war because Stiles needed a badass warrior princess to help his troops cross enemy lines and Allison hated sharing her toys.

His sister’s refusal to speak to him lasted for all of 20 minutes, in which time Stiles was reduced to tears in fear that Allison hated him, which only caused his sister to cry, thinking she’d hurt his feelings.

“Fuck, fine!” Allison whined at the weight of her confession, wiping away the tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch. There! You happy now?”

“Ecstatic.” Stiles retorted.

A smile blossomed upon his sister’s face. She rolled with her eyes and fondly shook her head as she turned around to walk away from him, the tips of her hair smacking the side of his face. He laughed it off, knowing all too well it was done on purpose. Stiles’ eyes followed after her, a soft love warming his chest at the sight her curls bouncing and waving freely.

He missed this.

He missed the easy way his sister used to smile.

He missed the teasing and the mocking they’d engage in for the sole purpose of messing with each other and not to lighten a darkened day as they had been doing in recent months.

“C’mon, Mischief!” Allison called to him over her shoulder. “I ain’t gonna do all this shit by myself.”

A nasty remark was on the tip of his tongue when he felt a distinct shift in the air around them. Allison paused a few steps ahead of him, her spine straightening as her head slowly moved around.

Cautious whiskey eyes snapped to tree tops, narrowed intently, his ears straining for any sudden noises. The moment the hairs on the back of his neck raised in warning and his hand flew to his thigh holster. The safety came off with a flick of the thumb as Stiles spun around, gun clutched in his hand, its muzzled aimed right at a gaping redhead.

“Whoa! It’s me!” Snow-kissed hands flew up as bright green eyes met his in shock.

“ _Lydia!_ ” Stiles groaned out in frustration, his chest heaving in relief as his arm dropped. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Geez, you got a death wish or something?” Allison remarked behind him.

Stiles, flicking the safety back on, slipped the gun back into its holster. The banshee’s shocked eyes danced between the two siblings before she took a cautious step forward. She eyed the spray cans and the gun gleaming in the moonlight against his thigh. Once again, her eyes lock with Stiles and Allison’s, a questioning glint in them.

“Why do you keep doing that?” His sister asked, tone harsh and blunt.

Lydia was visible taken aback by Allison’s sharp voice and Stiles chewed on his inner cheek to hide his amusement. His sister’s shoulder brushed against his as she came to stand by his side and he knew, without having to look, that her head was tilted to the side, her eyebrows raised, demanding an answer. Green eyes flickered between the two and Stiles couldn’t help but raise his own brows in question.

She caught his look, blinking as though in daze she shook her head. “Sorry. It’s just…” A small smile graced her rose-shaded lips. “It’s a little unsettling to see you with your twin.”

Stiles glanced over, sharing a puzzled frown with Allison before they both returned their eyes to the red head standing silently before them.

“Anyway,” Lydia sighed loudly, clearing hoping for a change of topic. “The pack is going through the whole full moon thing and I figured… being the only humans that I know, I could offer you my services?”

A beat of perplexed silence fell between them.

“Uh—” Stiles sounded out, absolutely shocked.

“And why would you wanna help us?” His sister interrogated her in an icy tone.

Stiles narrowed his eyes curiously at the Banshee, interested to know her answer too. It seemed odd that she’d willingly volunteer to walk about the woods with the two people her pack trusted the least. She was a woman of logic and though she clearly identified herself as a human, she was still part of the supernatural world and that link had to mean something to her. It had to affect her choice in allies and whom she saw as her enemies.

A look of vague annoyance crossed the red-head’s sweet face. “Look, I _get_ it. My pack and I haven’t been very welcoming toward you. But you two have to understand.” Apple shaded eyes fell on him. “We trusted you, Stiles. We opened up to you and allowed you to get close to us and had you not been a good person, Derek would be died right now. All because _we_ trusted _you_. My pack is just trying to protect themselves.”

A tight, uncomfortable knot grew in the pit of his stomach at Lydia’s words. He felt it twist, churning almost repulsively. Neither the Argent’s nor the Hale pack have placed their terrible past in such clearer words. It was always hidden or insinuated within snide remarks but as Lydia’s clear recollection of what Stiles had done sunk into the hunter, he felt the guilt he had slowly been trying to work through resurface full force.

An elbow brushed against his.

“Sorry.” Lydia winced, her voice softer than before. “That’s was harsh of me.”

Stiles found himself shaking his head the moment Lydia’s mouth formed ‘Sorry’. “No, it’s the truth.”

There was a heavy beat of silence and then pink painted lips tugged up into a hesitant smile.

Stiles remembered the day he met Lydia Martin. He recalled the way her eyes locked onto him like a serpent on her prey the moment he mentioned his birth place, a superficial air radiating off her. She seemed so pretentious back then, but now, as he looked at the woman who clearly had to grow up and strip away parts of herself to deal with the life she now lived, he saw a fighter.

She had the same determined and fearless glint in her eyes as Allison; ready to take on whatever life threw her way and prepared to do whatever it took to survive. Had this been a different time, had their circumstances been greatly altered, Stiles was sure Allison and Lydia would have made great friends.

“All right.” Stiles sighed and turned to his twin. “You got an extra can?”

Chocolate brown eyes narrowed at him briefly, caution and distrust openly expressed, before she nodded. She shuffled her backpack around to her front and ruffled through it. As she searched, Stiles nodded toward Lydia, beckoning her to come closer. The red head, nervously biting her bottom lip, stepped over, her eyes zoning in on the white dot Stiles had made earlier on the nearby tree.

“So, what exactly are you guys doing?” She asked in slightly forced light tone.

“Marking our sites.” Surprisingly, it was Allison whom answered. “We were thinking about placing detectors round a specific location. Stiles and I used these metal rod that emitted different frequency to trap a feral wolf. It was pitched for supernatural ears but with a few modifications, I am sure we can make it so it affect humans instead of werewolves.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed when she heard ‘feral wolf’. “What do you mean—“

“Not like that.” Stiles cut her off as Allison pulled out an extra can, handing it to Lydia, indifferent to her words and its obvious effect on Lydia. “Allison and I aren’t _just_ werewolf hunters. We hunt everything there is to hunt—“

“We hunt everything.” Allison interjected sharply. She tossed her brother a glance to which he nodded in response.

Without another word, Stiles watched Allison turn and walk away from the pair, her own can gripped in her hand. Stiles knew the reason behind her actions, and he didn’t fault her for it. Heck, it made him love her even more, but as much as he appreciated it, Stiles hated that she made herself out to be the bad guy here.

He waited a beat, pushing away the inner turmoil before he returned his attention to Lydia, who, once again, was watching them with a now all familiar glint in her eyes.

Stiles soundlessly made his way to a tree, the weight of his gun against his thigh comforting. He gestured to her. “Spray.”

She did as instructed, mildly baffled. “Why mark the trees? Aren’t you giving away your plan?”

Stiles bobbed his head from side to side. “Yes and no. We aren’t spraying our trees and we are. This is so your pack can know where to look but also to give the others the impression of what we plan to do.”

“Others?”

“Yeah. It’s safe to assume Gerard and Kate will be recruiting more people now that it’s clear we’re on your side. Meaning, we have to think as more than one type of hunter.”

Lydia nodded, a worried look fitting her face as she followed after Stiles, watching him mark another tree. Allison was up ahead, circling around a tree trunk, her head tilted back as she, no doubt, contemplated what kind of vantage point she’d have. His sister got very Katniss when they were in woodland areas and loved climbing trees whenever the opportunity presented itself.

“You know,” Lydia started from his left, “she’s not what I thought she’d be.”

Frowning, Stiles looked toward the Banshee. “And what exactly did you have in mind?” His voice held a defensive bite.

She shot him a look for his tone before answering, “I don’t know. You didn’t mention her much but with the way you were around us, I always thought she’d be this sweet girl or this loud mouth, zealous person who made her presence known by just walking in… Although now that I’m thinking about it, you weren’t exactly being yourself around us so that assessment was incorrect from the get go.”

Stiles swallowed down the sudden sour taste in his mouth. A heavy silence followed. He saw instant regret in Lydia’s eyes but ignored it in favor of marking every third tree he passed, given some to Lydia before following after Allison, his eyes seeking her out every now and then to make sure she was still in his sight.

Every so often, his sister would glance back, waiting for Stiles’ nod before going back to circling some other tree. He hated that she distanced herself from the Hale Pack, or anyone for that matter, but Allison was the kind of person who preferred not to waste her time with people she didn’t plan on seeing again.

It was a very cold hearted way of living but he understood where she came from. It sucked having to walk away from the people you cared most about. Walking away from their family had been the last straw for her, it had taken its toll in a calculated manner, encasing her heart in a heavily guarded persona he feared would never truly be opened again. It had two months before she even smiled at Sam and Dean and they’d been strangers in every sense of the word.

“You know…” Stiles voiced, hesitation pausing him mid-way. “It wasn’t all a lie.”

His flickered his gaze to Lydia. The Banshee paused in her step, her apple eyes meeting his before she resumed her steady pace. When her eyes remained locked on him, Stiles took that as a ‘go ahead’ to continue.

“I know I lied. There’s no excuse for that but… I was myself around you all.” He swallowed thickly. “Or at least, I felt like myself.”

“As suppose to a hunter on a mission to take down a werewolf.”

Stiles shrugged coldly, his voice mono-toned as he confessed. “When you grow up with a gun shoved in your hand, and read folklore instead of fairy tales as a kid, with the knowledge that the monsters were real and that one day you’d have to face them, you don’t have time to be someone other than the person your family expects you to be.” He shot her a glare as he said this, his anger and resentment seeping through in his bitter tone.

Stiles hastened his pace, moving with purpose to spray a tree, effectively ending the conversation before it took a wrong turn. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Allison spinning around to face him, pointing at the tree beside her.

Stiles sought out Lydia, making sure she was following him before he made his way over to his sister.

“What’s up?”

Allison, with her head tilted back and her eyes fixed high up the tree, answered. “My spot. If we get them here, I can keep point.”

Stiles cocked an eyebrow at her. “You’re not going up any trees, sis.”

Her head dropped with a snap, her almond shaped eyes narrowed. “Come again?”

“Forget it!” Stiles expressed. “No fuckin’ way. Not with Kate and Gerard on the ground. They will shoot you out that tree and I am not watching my sister free fall to earth again. Fuck no. You are keeping your feet on the ground.”

“I’m a better shot in the air, Stiles.” She reasoned, her voice pitched.

“Awesome. Then you can be a _great_ shot on the ground. Meaning, no bow for you. We’ll get that cross bow gun Dean gave you and that’s that.”

“You’re a dick.” Allison huffed with an eye roll. “So what? How are we gonna check the number if I don’t have a birds- eye view.”

“We could spread out.” A soft voice offered.

Allison and Stiles turned, their eyes zoning in on Lydia who raised her eyebrows at them as she explained. “Derek usually has Malia, Erica and I, and maybe Boyd to do a round-about. Then we take on those in the rear out while Scott, Derek and Isaac handle those leading the charge. With you guys here, we can flank them I’m sure.”

Stiles met Allison’s eyes. A silent message passed between the two.

“Also.” Lydia added, drawing their attention, this time in a stronger, firmer tone. “You two might want to share with the class when you have those looks. Scott and Erica are on ends because they’ve seen you two exchanges glances and Erica is convinced you two will jump ship or sides.”

Allison snorted lowly. “And how is us ‘sharing looks’ gonna prevent that? If Stiles and I wanted to side with our family, we wouldn’t be here, _helping_ you.”

The banshee sighed. “And I understand that. But I’m asking you, please, just share with the others. They already don’t trust their werewolf super-hearing to sniff you guys out. It would be easier for us all if we were just open with one another.”

Stiles’ eyes were in the midst of seeking out his sister’s when he paused guiltily. They don’t do it intentionally, and Stiles was sure that having to stop was going to like kicking a nasty habit but both he and Allison concede with a nod to Lydia. Allison shifted closer to him, her shoulder brushing against his, silently expressing her agreement in the hardship of the task.

Lydia rolled her eyes and sighed, giving them both a pointed look.

“Sorry.” Stiles winced to play the part. At her amused look, a small smile formed on his face. “We’ll try, but keep in mind we are twins. It’s not as easy as this.” Without moving his eyes, he blindly reached out, ready to shove Allison when a hand smacked his away without missing a beat.

Laughter bubbled from the banshee, a lightness exuding in eyes. When Stiles sneaked a glance at his sister, his heart leaped with joy at the dimples that were embedded in her checks as she too smiled along with Lydia.


	10. The Change in Tide

“And that’s the plan.” Allison finished.

Her eyes ran over the Hale Pack as she continued to say, “Lydia, Stiles and I have already marked the trees. But the paint needs to go, and soon, which is why you all need to know where to place the rods. It will emit a low frequency when Derek activates it with a device we’ll give him on a later day. It will sound like a dull ring to the Shifters but it will be painful to hear for human ears.” Her professional tone resounded through the silent room, all eyes fixed firmly on her. “When that happens, the werewolves will attack. We don’t want to kill anyone, because make no mistake, if you spill their blood, their families will come after you---“

“Wait, what?” Isaac cut her off, voice incredulous.

Stiles, who had been tight lipped throughout of entire recounting of their plan, pick his head up, his eyes leaving the dotted map, smoothly falling on the curly haired werewolf where he sat straddling a wooden chair.

“We can’t kill them?” He repeated. “You are aware that those hunters are here to maim us, right?”

Stiles glared over at him, his heated gazing burning into his visage, but the blue eyed wolf kept his attention locked on his sister. The air was already thick with tension, an undercurrent of emotion casted over the room. This was the first time since that disastrous meeting two days ago, where Derek had nearly attacked his sister, where they all congregated in the same room.

Stiles had yet to look toward the Alpha and Derek seemed to prefer pretending Stiles was nothing more than an inconvenient shadow beside Allison. It was good trick, but it sure made everyone else uneasy when Stiles had made the stupid mistake of speaking, only to be ignored by half the room of wolf following their Alpha’s lead.

He had bit down on his tongue, glared at Allison to not say a word, before turning and giving Lydia a helpless shrug. Choosing the easiest path, Stiles had stepped back and allowed his sister to do the explaining.

There was no point in making this any harder than it already was and the quicker they got through this fucking day, the faster Stiles could get back to his car.

This body ached from having to sleep in those uncomfortable seats and judging by the way Allison kept rotating her neck, it was clear they’d have to find a motel to sleep in by tomorrow. Which sucked because the closest motel was a good hour or so away and they’d have to use cash and not credit cards if they were going to be bunking in Beacon Hills. But with the way things were going, one measly room would put a huge dent in their thinning wallets, and that meant Allison and Stiles would have to head to some local bars for some hustling and neither enjoyed that.

Allison’s sharp voice answered Isaac. “I am aware, yes, but you already got Argent’s on your asses. _Believe me_ when I say, you don’t more hunters out for your heads.” His sister gritted out, her shoulder dropping in a forced attempt to relax. “Now, after we’ve trapped them, and Derek has stopped the pulse, Stiles and I will move in. Like I said, we’re not here to kill anyone, so we’ll mostly do limb shots, anything to drive them out or scare them.”

“And Kate and your grandfather?” Erica questioned. Her eyes, though burning with hatred, kept flickering between Allison and Stiles as she spoke in a diplomatic tone.

Guess, Lydia spoke to them too.

“I—“ Allison casted her brother a conflicting glance.

Stiles nodded and took a strong step forward, setting his shoulders back. “We’ll deal with them.” He confirmed.

“You and Allison are gonna take on your aunt and grandfather?” Malia spoke, her voice dripping with disbelief. She looked between the Argent twins from across to room where she rested against a stoned pillar, where he stood too. Her body was pressed tightly against her cousin’s, making it hard for Stiles to fight the desire to shift his gaze a fraction to the right, toward Derek.

The moment their eyes inevitably met, exhausted brown on angered green, Derek clenched his jaw and turned away, looking at Malia as she continued to say, “Why would you go after your own family?”

“Because they _are_ our family.” Allison stressed out, plain and simple. Her voice hardened around the word ‘family’ and the Hale pack visibly shifted at her tone.

“Yeah,” Stiles added, claiming their attention and effectively pulling his sister away from their scrutiny. “But make no mistake, this doesn’t give us a free pass. In our family’s books, we are traitors, meaning we have a bigger target on our backs than you. Gerard will probably kill us the second he has a chance but we were trained by him and Kate. If there is anyone who’s going to stand a chance against them, it’s me and my sister.”

“But…” Every head snapped to Scott, whose narrowed gaze was loaded with confusion as they flickered from Stiles to Allison. “But they’re your family.”

A painfully cold sensation wrapped around his heart. He mindlessly shifted toward Allison, their shoulder touching as he shook his head, knowing she too would agree with his words when he said. “No. They’re our blood. And sadly, that doesn’t equate to family for Kate and especially not for Gerard.”

He bitterly watched the rippling change that overcame the Hale pack at his acidic words. Their once hardened eyes softened just a fraction. In a blink, Stiles’ expression became a lifeless visage, when their sympathetic eyes fell on him.

He didn’t need their pity nor did he want it. He didn’t _want_ anything from them.

Lydia cleared her throat. “Uh, okay. So, is there anything else we’d need?”

Stiles glanced toward Allison who shook her head.

“No,” Stiles answered, looking out before him. “We have a plan. We stick with it until something occurs that requires us to re-evaluate our hand. Until then, you all should go over whatever plan of attack you have in mind and make sure you know where to place the rods. Make sure that when doing so you don’t make your location to obvious because you never know who is watching.”

Stiles and Allison moved the second he was done speaking, reaching for their things that littered the table in Derek’s loft. Stiles reached for his car keys, his body aching with discomfort at the very idea of having to sleep in the Camaro for another night. He’s gonna gave to ask Dean to switch out the front seats for bench seats like the Impala.

As he shoved his stuff into his wore out backpack, he heard Erica’s condescending snort. “Aren’t you being a little paranoid with the God’s Eye complex you’re giving these hunters?”

With his body taut at the prospect of yet another restless night, his mind hazy from his lack of sleep and his mood already soured by their treatment, Stiles let go of the little anger he had been repressing since the second he set foot into the loft.

He tossed the she-wolf a fevered glare coupled with a nasty smirk as he said, in a cold, heartless voice, “I watched you and your pack for months before meeting you in person. And even then you didn’t know you were being watched.”

Golden eyes flared up, growls reverberated through the room and a hand grabbed his, her strong grip grounding. Stiles glanced down and followed Allison as she led him out of the loft without another word.

When the cold night air kissed his heat cheeks, Stiles felt something warm and wet slither down the side of his face. He reached out, wiping it away discreetly and Allison’s hand tightened around his, squeezing it.

“Fuck them, Stiles.” She said, her eyes steered straight ahead.

There was no pity or platitudes. They had both grown accustomed to this. When their bodies were so hay-wired and their minds too exhausted to fully control their emotions, they would just snap. There were some night when Allison would cry, silent streams of endless tears. There was nothing to cry about and yet she cried.

On those despondent nights they’d lay side by side, with Allison’s head couched on his shoulder waiting it out. No words were spoken and like now, neither Stiles nor Allison acknowledged the tear that followed after the other.

His sister took the keys from his numb, unfeeling hands and Stiles wordlessly slipped into the passenger side, leaning back into the seat. Eyes closed, he leaned his head back, doing nothing to wipe away the tears that stained his cheeks.

 

*

 

It was around mid-night that Stiles found his feet moving through the forest, toward the bridge. His leather jacket protected him against the nightly chill, his red hood a protective cloak to hide beneath from the steady cloud of mist hanging in the air, cooling and wetting his exposed skin in one single breath. The Camaro was parked a good walking distance away with Allison passed out in the back seat, her face paled and eyes red rimmed.

He hated what this town was doing to her. From her hyper-vigilant posture, her eyes scanning every street and every turn with each passing second spend outside to her sleepless nights she spent she obsessed over the up-coming battle. She was walking on the sharp end of a blade, each step bitingly painful, but it was a pain both she and Stiles needed to accept and fight through if they wanted to get out of here alive and intact.

As Stiles reached the stony bridge, his eyes fell on the spot where everything changed for him. A wave of emotions coursed through him as he recalled the words Derek had spoken to him that fatal night, the confusion and the nervousness that had encased his chest, making it difficult to breathe while his mind raced, connecting dots to a picture that could come to haunt him for years to come.

“ _I trust you…_ ” A softer, kinder, voice echoed through his ears.

Stiles, chewing on his inner cheek, made his way to the edge of the bridge with heavy feet. His arms gravitated to the railing and his hands moved toward his inside pocket, reaching for his cell phone. With a clenching heart Stiles scrolled through his contacts, moving past Dean’s name.

When Stiles pressed dial, he lifted the phone to his ear, mouthing a silent prayer that he’ll answer. He needed to hear something other than his own tormenting thoughts. He needed to focus on something other than his past.

The other end rung thrice before he answered, his voice deepened and rough, no doubt from hours of disuse, but still wide awake. Of course he was still awake.

_“Stiles?”_

“Heya, Sam.” Stiles greeted, forcing a tone of lightness.

_“Hey, what’s up? You’ve been quiet for a while. How’s Allison?”_

“She’s good. Uh,” a smile fitted itself on his lips regardless of the lack of audience. “We’re kinda back in Beacon Hills.”

 _“You’re what?!”_ Sam exclaimed. _“What do you mean you’re back? Did something happen?”_

Stiles sighed, closing eyes. He prayed he hadn’t made things worse by involving the Winchester’s in this hunt. “You could say that. About a day after I called Dean, we went on this werewolf hunt—“

 _“Yeah, we heard about that.”_ Sam commented, his voice deepening with a hint of pride.

“Yeah, well, I got a call from Lydia Martin. She was part of the pack who my father assigned me to… Anyway, I am sure you know I’ve been hiding something or at least not telling you the full story about what exactly happened in Beacon Hills’, but… see there was this guy. I developed feelings for him which was a bitch because he was the assignment.”

_“Shit…”_

“You could say that again.” Stiles scoffed. He’d thought it would hurt, having to speak about the past with Sam or even Dean, but the more Stiles divulged, the more he felt the heavy burden he had been carrying around ease.

It was a bitter experience that he knew Sam shared. He hadn’t been around, nor had he eavesdropped to know for sure, but he knew with the lives the two brother’s lived, they’d had to have had their fair share of heartbreaks.

“Right,” Stiles sounded out, clearing his throat. “So, Lydia called, said this guy- Derek- had been taken by my aunt. Bottom line, me and Ally high tailed to Cali to help get Derek back, and now we’re in an all-out war between my family and the Hale’s.”

Silence answered him on the other end, and Stiles gave Sam the time to gather his thoughts. It was a lot to take in, and he didn’t expect something from the older man but, to have someone other than Allison know the truth felt better. To have someone know, someone who understood what he was going through made the whole cluster-fuck feel less lonely.

When Sam spoke, his voice was hard and professional. _“Do you guys need back up?”_

Whiskey eyes widened. “Fuck no! No, no, no. This is my fight and I don’t think they’d like me much if my presence brought along more hunters.”

 _“We’ll be able to make it, Stiles.”_ Sam tried once more.

Shaking his head, Stiles spoke. “No, man, seriously, I just called to inform you and Dean-o,” Sam laughed on the other end. “That we’re okay. I’ll call you as soon as this whole thing is over. By then, I’ll hopefully be out of Beacon Hills.”

_“Meaning you’re not gonna stay?”_

“Why would I do that?” Stiles questioned bewildered. “Did you not hear the part where I said these people hate my guts?”

_“I’m sure they’re just hurting—"_

“Hurting and hating.”

 _“Stiles.”_ Sam stressed. _“My point is… this could be your one and only chance to finally get some closure.”_

“Closure for what?”

_“Well for one, did you ever apologize for what you did? Did you explain yourself---“_

“Of course I did. But I’m done, Sam. If they don’t want my apologies then I’m done giving them. I’m not gonna be here for much longer anyway.” He shook his head stubbornly. “I can’t keep going back the past. Isn’t that what you and Dean are always preaching about?”

_“Dean and I aren’t exactly the kind of people you should be looking up to.”_

Stiles snorted. “Too late for that.”

A brittle laugh was shared between the two. The wind had picked up a bit in the time he and Sam had been talking, it’s biting breezing a soothing burn. Stiles shuffled closer to the railing, hunching his shoulder to feel the heat raise up from within his leather jacket and hoodie.

_“Listen, it’s probably midnight over there. So why don’t you try and get some sleep? If you need anything, I’m a phone call away.”_

The corner of his lips tug up. “Yeah, I know. Talk to you later.”

_“Bye.”_

Returning the sentiment, Stiles pulled the phone away and ended the call. As he lowered his cell phone, his eyes fall on his display picture. In times of darkness, Stiles had discovered that should he feel too consumed with the events of any day, he always returned to this photo.

Nostalgia was a bitch when you’re rehashing old times. He won’t be able to sleep tonight, and he’d rather not risk waking Allison up by all his shuffling and shifting. To waste some time, Stiles scrolled through his cell, logging into his folder that held every picture his sister had ever taken of their time with the Winchester’s.

There was snaps of Dean and Sam. Allison and Dean, their faces pressed together. Castiel with his face smashed between Allison and Stiles. There was one with Sam and Dean laughing at something Stiles was saying, with Charlie playing scrabble with Cas and half of Allison’s face fitted into the left side of the photo.

He paused when he came across a photo of Cas and Dean. They were seated beside each other, in the midst of what he recalled was to be very dull conversation. Dean had his eyebrows lifted, his lips quirked into a humorous smirk while Castiel frowned in confusion. It looked innocent enough but after being there for all their intense staring matches, he knew what he was looking for the moment he came across it. The unwavering attention Castiel bestowed upon the gruff hunter.

He wasn’t entirely sure how to describe their relationship. The words ‘profound bond’ sprung to mind every now and then but Sam had explained that though Dean himself refused to put a label to things, there was no denying that the other man loved Cas with everything in him.

A heavy thudding of solid footsteps reached his ears. Stiles, with his heart a steady calm beat, lowered his cell and turned his head to look over his shoulder. His body remained relaxed but his insides turned to stone as the bulking form slowly walked toward him.

“Stiles.”

Swallowing to sooth his suddenly dried up throat, he nodded. “Derek.”

His tongue moved so freely, forming the werewolf’s name. He inhaled carefully calculated breaths. He knew his heart was given him away as it spiked, speeding up the closer Derek got. Stiles turned himself around, leaning back as casually as he could manage against the hard railing, his cold whiskey eyes locked on the Alpha.

“How long have you been standing there?” Stiles asked, narrowing his eyes when Derek stopped before him.

With his hands shoved into the pockets of a leather jacket that hung heavily on his body, Derek looked exactly like he remembered. Except his eyes… those green-grey orbs boring into his remained unaffected by his presence. A mask of neutrality had relaxed his usually stony features, falling almost naturally.

“Long enough,” Was the answer he got.

Stiles clenched his jaw, biting down his remark on privacy. What was exchanged between him and Sam was nothing Derek didn’t already know. The weight in his chest slowly grew as the silence stretched on. It was burdened with words Stiles knew were meant to be spoken.

Everything he had ever imaged saying, everything he ever promised himself he’d do should he get the chance to see Derek Hale again… all those things seemed inadequate now that the time had arrived.

In a need to break the growing silence, Stiles asked. “Do you want me to leave?” He winced slightly at his harsh tone.

Derek cocked his head to the side and Stiles looked around, remembering that this was the Hale’s special place. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him as he had wondered around the preserve, following an unknown calling as it drew him to this place.

Inhaling deeply, Stiles gathered what little remaining strength he had left that hadn’t been wasted on trying to keep his cool.

“I’ll go.” He shoved his cell back into his pockets and moved to turn around. He was exactly five steps away when a strong voice tugged him back.

“Stiles…” Derek called his name, halting the hunter in his tracks.

Slowly Stiles turned, glancing over his shoulder. He raised his eyebrows when he was met with Derek’s hard face, watching with growing confusion as the Alpha ducked his head, his hand pulling out of his pocket. Stiles held his breath, waiting, as Derek walked over to him.

His spine tingled and goose bumps erupted over the length of his arms when Derek reached out his hand, his fist enclosed around something. Stiles frowned as he glanced down at the hand.

“What’s that?” He asked, feeling the fluttering sensation building within him, enticing his heart to beat faster.

“The keys to my loft.” Derek said in a gruff voice. “I know you and Allison have been sleeping in your car. I’m not using my loft, so… here.” He uncurled his fist, rotating his hand to reveal three silver keys.

Pink lips part in shock. His eyes flickered from Derek’s out stretched hand to his unaffected eyes. Stiles wanted to scoff, wanted to ask why the hell he cared. He wanted to hold onto the anger that fueled his pain, like gasoline to his lifeline flame. He knew it was petty, he knew he was only feeling that way in order to deal with _all of this_.

Stiles suddenly wished he hadn’t left the sanctuary of the Camaro. He suddenly wished Derek was glaring back at him. He wanted anything but those blank eyes to be staring back at him. He hated the message it carried; that Stiles was nothing to him, that his presence didn’t have any effect and that him being here wasn’t hurting Derek as much as it was hurting Stiles.

“You do want it or not?” Derek forced out, his voice on the cusps of a growl.

Stiles opened his mouth, ready to decline the offer when his mind flashed to his sister. He thought of her strength, her loving presence. He had offered, only once before, to drive her back to Kansas, stating that he could handle the hunt on his own now that Derek was back but she had simply cocked her head to the side and asked in a faux-concerned voice if he knocked his head.

With her in mind, Stiles took one measured step closer, plucking the keys from Derek’s palm, ignoring the tingling sensation that rushed up the length of his arm as the tips of his fingers brushed against the Alpha’s palm.

He enclosed his fist around the hard metal keys, meeting Derek’s eyes as he nodded. “Thanks.”

Derek said nothing more, his jaw flexing as he remained silent. Stiles waited for a torturing beat before he forced his body to turn around. His nerves were on fire at the heated eyes he knew were burning into his back as he walked away.

His hands shook, his body felt tight and tense with the force at which Stiles was holding himself together. He scurried into his Camaro, failing at least twice to slip the key into the ignition. He gritted his teeth in utter frustration, biting but the urge to curse the shit of the goddamn car before she finally roared to life.

Allison jumped up in her seat, wide brown eyes staring at him as she exclaimed. “What the heck? Where are we going?”

Stiles shook his head mutely, hating the grief he felt flooding him, despising the aching longing claiming his body as he drove out and away from the woods. It’s been six fucking months! Why did this guy still have this hold over him? Why couldn’t Stiles shake him off? He thought he was over him, or least a step away from getting over him but--

“Stiles…” His sister called his name. “Hey, what happened?”

He shook his head, hastily informing her he didn’t want to talk right now. Her hand fell on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

Neither said a thing when Stiles pulled up outside Derek’s loft. Allison moved to pack as much into their two duffle bags per Stiles instructions, and followed after him as they took the rusty elevator. Her choosing to remain silent on the change of sleeping venue, appeased his desire to drown in his miserable mind.

They quietly made their way around the place, settling everything up in their previous place without much need of verbal interaction. Stiles gave her a sweet, thankful smile when she took out the large file of folk lore for him while he set up their sleeping bags.

“Night, bro.” She softly called in the dead of night, her voice fading with each word she whispered. He saw the way her body curled in, a pillow he was sure was his, clutched tightly to her chest.

With his sister fast asleep a few inches away in her sleeping back, Stiles sat crossed leg in his own sleeping bag, the beaming light from his flashlight glowing down on the open file before him, his eyes running over information he had already memorized.

It was hours later, with the sun steadily illuminating the world, turning the midnight shaded sky into a gloomy greyish-purple, when his cell vibrate beside him.

With a drowsy mind, Stiles blindly reached out, flick it open. He drowsily dragged his eyes away from the now blurring words to his cell. He accessed the message and blinked in shock, his body stiffening. His insides turned a burning icy cold as he reread the message over and over.

Allison’s cell vibrate a second later. With his stomach churning by fear lacing his thoughts, the fog clouding his mind lifted as Stiles rapidly ran his eyes over the text once more, triple checking that his brain wasn’t deceiving him.

And it wasn’t.

 

**_> [06:30 AM] UNKNOWN: I know you’re back. I want to see you and your sister, Stiles. -Dad._ **


	11. Chosen Sides and a Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Thank you all so much for reading this story. I have just started college and I know I will be busy with school work, which means I will try to update as soon as I can.

A day passed with a hovering air of nonchalance. Both Allison and Stiles had deleted the text from their dad, Allison being the one to suggest it and Stiles ultimately being the last to press the button. He’d impressed upon her that he’d understand if she wanted to go see him.

“And why would I want to do that? What could he possibly say that I don’t already know?” She had retorted back in her snarkiest tone.

Always the stubborn twin.

Stiles was aware a part of Allison wanted to go see their father, but she was too mule-headed to do something based on a small desire. She had always been that way. If Allison wasn’t _entirely_ sure on something, she wouldn’t act on it.

It’s what made her such a ‘great leader’ as Kate had once so eloquently put; her ability to discern between what she truly needed and what she simply _wanted to do_.

They spent their day hiding out in Derek’s loft, leaving only to grab some food with what little money they had before retreating back to the large and painfully bare building. Neither dwelled too much on their daunting future, choosing instead to focus on the now.

The next day brought Lydia Martin pounding on the door. “Hey! It’s Lydia! Open up!”

Allison remained motionless, unaffected by the sudden noise in her yoga pose, her shoulder lifting and falling as she inhaled calm meditating breaths. Stiles rose up from his place on the floor, his legs prickling with pins and needles at the abrupt change in position.

Opening the door, Stiles’ eyes widened as they dropped to the two large brown paper bags in Lydia’s arms. An intoxicating, mouth-watering spicy scent traveled up his nostrils and his stomach growled with hunger.

“Good thing I bought enough for five people.” Lydia commented, promptly lifting her arched eyebrows for Stiles to step aside and let her in.

The heels of her tanned ankle-length boots clicked against the floors, echoing through the quiet room. Stiles followed after her, taking a bag out of her arms just as Lydia came to a halt, her head bowed toward a silent, relaxed Allison.

Stiles snorted and shook his head before Lydia could even ask. “Don’t bother. She has those noise cancelling ear buds in. I mean, she knows you’re here but she’s not gonna say or do anything for a while.”

Lydia casted his sister one last glance before she walked past, heading toward the table Stiles had placed the food. Silently moving around, Lydia began pulling out two boxes of Chinese food and some Indian. With every delicious aroma, Stiles had to swallow down the accumulating saliva gathered in his mouth, hungry to have a bite of everything.

“So is this what you normally do?” Lydia asked in a conversational tone, turning her head to the side to look at him, a fiery curtain of hair glowing behind her as it cascaded over her shoulder. “Allison meditates, while you…” she tossed a glance to where he had been previously sitting, “what are you doing?”

Stiles looked over to the perfectly arranged pieces of his disassembled guns, all of them neatly atop a dirty towel. They were arranged in order and just looking at them igniting a childlike need to return to doing what he found most relaxing.

“I’m cleaning my guns.” He answered, a smirk forming on his lips at the shock in Lydia’s eyes. “What? You think my guns have that lethal glint naturally?”

She narrowed her eyes playfully at that remark, adding nothing more on the matter as she handed him a carton of food, which Stiles took gratefully. He waved off Lydia’s question on bothering Allison to tell her about the food, telling her his sister will come to down Earth when she was ready.

Exactly 20 minutes later, Allison was seated beside Stiles, reaching over with poised chopsticks to steal one of his ribs.

“Hey! What the fuck? You have your own food, dude!” Stiles exclaimed with annoyance, physically turning around when his sister tried to steal another.

“C’mon, Stiles!” She pleaded. “Mine’s up and… Here! I’ll give you a broccoli for one rib!”

She got his best bitch face for that. “ _Hell no_.”

They continued their mild banter. Having warm and actually enjoyable food to eat relaxed them bite by every succulent bite. Lydia remained a silent spectator, laughing behind her hand when Allison shoved Stiles’ head for calling her ‘a greedy bitch’.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Lydia spoke after swallowing a piece of broccoli. “Do those actually work?” She pointed her chopsticks down to Stiles’ left arm. Both he and Allison’s eyes dropped to their respective tattoos.

Stiles grinned and nodded. “Yeah.”

A flicker of fear crossed her soft features. “Uh, okay… so, demons are real. Great.” She cheeks lost their pink hue.

Allison smirked. “Like I said,” she leaned forward for dramatic effect. “We hunt everything.”

After every speck of food had vanished, Lydia asked if it would be all right if she hung out a bit longer.

“Why? Are the Shifters too overbearing?” Allison asked, her voice lighter and far kinder than before.

Stiles, stomach bloated from all the food he’d consumed, watched with a light grin when Lydia’s eyes widened in shock at having Allison address her without anger and annoyance but the Banshee shook it off and spoke in a casual tone. “Not really… I just---“

Allison nodded before the Banshee had even finished. “You’re the bridge.”

“Ah,” Stiles sounded out beside Allison, reaching out for his sawed-off to clean out. That made sense.

Lydia’s gaze danced between the two. “I wouldn’t call myself the bridge.”

“Really? So you’re not here to make sure my brother and I aren’t gonna get the hell outta dodge? You’re not here to make sure we still remembered we have a pack of werewolves to protect?” Allison paused and turned to give her brother a disturbed look. “Growing up, I never thought I’d ever utter those words.”

Stiles snorted. “I know right.”

Lydia sighed loudly, drawing their playful eyes and humorous smirks toward her. “Not what I meant. I just meant I’m more of a mediator than a _bridge_.” She rolled her eyes, expressing her offense of the phrase.

The twins shared a look of disagreement, knowing full well the Banshee was looking at them. At her pointed huff, they grinned to one another, resuming to the cleaning and reassembling their guns. Stiles noticed some stains on his pant leg which was nothing. After ripping almost four of his five pairs of jeans, he didn’t really care how messy or untidy he looked.

He was a hunter not a freaking runway model.

A few minutes of mutual, comfortable silence Lydia spoke up once again, caution evident in her tone. “Can you— you two think you can show me how to do that?”

Stiles paused mid-way from cleaning out the right side of his sawed-off double sided barrelled shotgun. He looked over at his gun, hesitant in allowing Lydia to touch them. They were his babies, and Stiles took pride in them. He liked cleaning them out himself, heck, not even Allison was allowed to touch his arsenal during their TLC period.

“Uh,” Stiles glanced over to Allison who cocked her eyebrow at him in a ‘you know her, you decide’ way. Rolling his eyes, Stiles sighed and shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

He stood up and rounded to the opposite side of his collection to Lydia. “Let’s show you how to properly clean and reassemble a gun.” He pointed to the nearest parts. “You can do Allison’s 45.”

He returned his sister’s murdering stare with a devilish smirk.

 

*

 

“ _And…_ ” Lydia sounded, clipping on the barrel with expert fingers. She pulled it back, clicking it in place. “Done!”

Stiles smirked over to the red—sorry, _strawberry blonde_ \- as she grinned at him, her pale pink lips stretched into a proud smile, green eyes thinned into joyous slits and her round face framed by the few strands hanging from the messy bun she had gathered and twisted her hair into when she ‘got ready’.

_“So are you a natural redhead?” Allison had asked._

_“It’s strawberry blonde, actually. And yes.”_

_“Oh, well excuse me.”_

“There. Did I do it right?” She asked, turning the black handgun over in her hands. Fingers that had moved with such assurance were now hesitant to grasp the weapon she herself had assembled.

Stiles took it from her, doing his own mock inspection. He pulled out the mag, nodding, before slipping it back in and continued to mess around, cocking and sniffing his gun, finding great joy at the widening of Lydia’s panic filled eyes with every second that ticked by.

“Oh, for the love of God, Stiles!” Allison groaned. “She’s gonna get a brain aneurysm.”

Scowling at his sister for spoiling his fun, Stiles turned, regarding the Banshee with a mournful expression. “Lydia… I have to say that you- even though I had my doubts, and wanted you to stay as far away from this gun as humanly possible- did a very, very, very…” he sighed when her eyes widened even further. “A very, _very_ , good job. Like seriously I can’t impress upon you how good of a --”

Lydia gaped at him for a lengthened beat before slamming her fist into the side of his arm. “Don’t do that!”

“Uh, ow.” Stiles winced playfully, putting the gun down in order to rub his arm. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Failure isn’t the end of the world.”

Allison hummed. “In this case.” She interjected.

Lydia let out a shaky chuckle, giving his sister a soft glare that Allison returned with a dimpled grin. A soft warmth blanketed Stiles at the small exchange. However, the light, relaxing air that had encompassed the three shattered moments later by a shrilling ring.

Stiles and Allison’s head whipped over to his sleeping bag where his cell lay abandoned. It wasn’t the designated ring they had inscribed for Winchester’s, and no one else had their number besides Lydia and…

Whiskey eyes and chocolate orbs met, the twins’ minds flashing to the text they had both deleted. Allison was the one who jumped up, her combat boots thudding thrice before Stiles’ cell was snatched up. She answered it, the device inches from her mouth, to show it was on speaker.

“What?” Allison snapped.

There was static on the other end and a voice crackled through. _“Allison? Allison, It’s Isaac! Listen you—you and St--iles have to get here!”_

Suddenly, Lydia grasped her throat, fear striking her face. Red hair whipped around as the Banshee jumped to her feet, appearing by Allison’ side in a blink of an eye. Stiles moved, snatching up their assembled guns, mind racing as a plan already began to form.

“ _It’s---_ ” Isaac was cut off by a chest rumbling roar tearing through the cell. A thundering clasp echoed around the loft, the tell-tale sign of a gun being fired. _“It’s your father, Allison! Get here!”_

The call ended abruptly.

Stiles jumped to his feet, rushing to the table for his keys. His heart pounded as a cocktail of fear and anxiety clawed at him, holding onto his unwavering focus. Stiles toss the keys to his sister, picking up their duffle bag of guns, throwing it over his shoulder.

Allison took off, running out the loft door without a glance back. Lydia made way to follow after her, stopping in her tracks when Stiles grabbed her arm.

“You stay here!” He insisted, pulling her back to prove his point.

“Like hell!” The Banshee exclaimed, angry swimming in her green eyes. “That’s my—“

“I know!” Stiles shouted, his throat burning as he moved to grab the gun Lydia had put together, shoving it into her hands. She grasped it without thought.

Grasping her shoulders, Stiles shook her, thankful when their eyes instantly met. “Listen to me. Allison and I are gonna go help them but this could be a trap to lure us out. You stay here, keep that gun, safety off like I showed you. You stay here and shoot anyone who comes through that door, do you understand me?”

Lydia gaped at him.

_“Lydia!”_

She jostled at the power of his voice. “Okay! Okay!” She nodded violently. “Now, go. Go!”

 

*

 

Stiles stomped down on his brakes. The Camaro’s tires squealed. His body shot forward at the force of inertia and his passenger door was shoved open. Allison was out of the car before he’d even stopped, her form swallowed up by the gathered dust as she raced toward the scene that laid ahead.

There, right in front of the Hale house, stood the Hale pack, hunched out with hardened wolfish features, eyes aglow and their roars rippling through the land. A few leaping distances away was his father, standing point with three men behind him, rifles clutched firmly in their hands. All of them pointed at the growling werewolves.

Stiles’ feet carried him at their own accord and before he could register the gripping turn of events, he was before his dad, his hand up and gun aimed. His heart hammered against his rib-cage, blood pumping overwhelming doses of adrenaline. His body ached at the tension and the strength it needed to remain in control as his eyes took in the man standing on the other end of his gun.

Blue eyes he had dreamed of seeing widened as they took in Stiles and Allison’s sudden appearance. Stiles noted the way his father’s hand faltered, his silver .50 caliber lowering an inch at the sight of his children. A dizzying force of collision erupted within Stiles’ chest as every emotion he had ever locked away finally imploded, Stiles no longer able to keep them contained.

Pain crashed with joy.

Grief mended with relief.

Anger and betray suffocated everything else, consuming him until his mind cleared, until the hardened hunter resurface. He felt the rippling effect of Derek’s growl against the back of his neck as it reverberated through his body.

“Drop the gun, Dad!” Stiles commanded.

The sound of his voice broke his father out of his stupor. His once sinking hand lifted, but his aim shifted to the Alpha behind his son. Stiles glared, pouring as much hatred into his eyes, hoping that anything, whether it be good or bad, would be enough to get his father away from the werewolves.

“Stiles.” His dad spoke in an acknowledging tone, his gruff voice cracking something in him. “Allison.”

Allison shift in the corner of his eye. Stiles knew, without a doubt, that no matter what happened, no matter how this standoff ended, he was walking away with his sister by his side. He felt his resolve strengthen, his body tensing, preparing for the fight he knew and feared would be coming.

“I’M NOT GONNA TELL YOU AGAIN! DROP THE GUN!” Stiles bellowed, bringing through all the resentment and fire he could gather without losing himself in its consuming flames.

Derek growled behind him. “Stiles, move.”

“This isn’t your fight, Stiles.” Chris Argent said, his voice softening at his son’s name. His eyes flickered between Stiles and Allison. “This has nothing to do with you—“

“Bullshit!” Stiles shook his head, denying his father to chance to mess with his head. “This became my fight the moment you used mom’s death to turn your son into a murder. The day you allowed your sister to break the code.”

The hunters behind his father did not falter at the reveal of Kate Argent’s indiscretion and Stiles realized, with a sickening churn, that these were Gerard’s people. His grandfather always had a way of gathering the evilest, most unremorseful of hunters to side with him. These men were out for werewolf blood and he knew none of them cared about the innocent blood that was spilled in the crossfire.

He moved then, shifting his stance, until he was in eye line of his dad’s gun, the black barrel glaring back at him.

“Stiles, leave. _Now!_ ” His father ordered.

Stiles glared at the man who’d raised him. “I am not yours to control anymore. I am not the kid who blindly followed your orders.” He lifted his chin when he heard the click from Allison’s gun. “The Hale’s are under our protection. You want to get to Derek, you have to get through me.”

Dead silent fell between the Argent’s.

There was a rough sigh of, “Fine.” Before bullets flew.

The thundering noise rung in his ears, his heart clenching at the horrendous sound.

He felt the burning graze of a bullet as it tore through the flesh of his arm. Derek grunted behind him and Stiles’ heart clenched in fear. A deafening collaborations of roars and one raging growl cut through the air.

Stiles fired, his finger pinched against the trigger. The vibrating force of the bullets leaving the gun ran up and through his arm. Men fell as Allison open fired. Their father had ducked behind his van. Stiles saw the mass of crouched body’s jerk forward, their claws out and their eyes illuminated.

“No!” Allison shouted to the Hale pack. “Do not attack!”

His finger relaxed and Stiles stopped firing as the dust cleared. He lowered his gun, shooting the tires of the van in which one of the hunter’s had driven in. Stiles looked to the left and met his sister’s dark eyes. She nodded and turned to Isaac who, during the surrounding chaos, had moved to flank her side. Allison jerked her head to Derek before both her and Stiles took a solid step forwards.

“It’s over, dad.” Allison spoke, her voice deliberately clear. “I am sure I shot one of those assholes and Stiles had to have gotten a bullet in. You can either take them and get the hell out of here or stay and wait until they bleed to death.”

A form materialize from behind the middle van. Stiles watched, his burning gaze fixed upon his father. He dared not breathe in fear that one inhalation will shatter this cold persona he had honed in the midst of the shooting. The heavy, centering weight of the gun in his hands was steady as Chris Argent took in his children, hand clutching his bleeding shoulder.

“Kids….” He sighed to them with mournful eyes. “Don’t do this. You can’t win against Gerard.”

“Say’s you.” Stiles scoffed, blinking away the burning sensation in his eyes as something heavy pounded urgently within his heart, as if begging him to be kinder, to not be this person he had become in front of his dad.

“Allison.” Their dad turned to his twin. Stiles’ glanced over at her from the corner of his eyes, saw the tick of her jaw as she met their dad’s stare, saying nothing to his pointless plea.

Chris Argent sighed. “Fine.” He glared at something behind Stiles before turning around. Stiles watched with a heavy heart as his dad bumped into a van on the way to his own. “Fall back!” He instructed.

“And leave your guns.” Stiles ordered. “Or I’m coming after all of you looking for that fucking bullet.”

Three figures stumbled to the only functioning van, their blood staining the ground beneath them. A burning, metallic scent reached his nose and Stiles swallowed down the urge to retch. He watched on with cold eyes as the van pulled back, picking up dust when they did a sharp turn, leaving a cloud of dirt in its wake as it vanished.

Allison and Stiles turned with it, their guns trained on the van until it was out of their sight, dissolving into nothing but two demonic red eyes. Standing side by side, they both lowered their aching arms, turning to look to the other, their eyes reflecting the pain they both felt within.

Stiles traced the dried tear stain on his sister’s right check and saw the broken look in her dark orbs. Turning away, his mind latching onto something else, _anything else_ but this moment.

“Did you see what he did?” Allison croaked beside him. “With the van.”

His eyes snapped to the black sedan, zoning on the bloodied hand print. He nodded silently and felt his sister’s shoulder brushing against his as she moved toward the van.

 _“Stiles!_ ” A loud, terrified voice called to him.

Stiles spun around and met the fearful eyes of Malia. He took in the way she was gripping onto a growling Derek, the way her bloodied hand gripped onto his shoulder as she supported her cousin. The Argent twins took off in an instant, Stiles dropping to his knees beside Derek, the sting of stones digging into his skin barely felt.

He reached out without thought, fingers grasping the material of his shirt and he ripped it open. The tearing sound hurt his ears but not as much as Derek’s pained grunt. Stiles pulled the tattered material back, taking in the infected skin around the bullet wound.

“Fuck!” He groaned, spinning to regard his sister. “You think—“

She nodded. “Yeah.”

Without another word, she turned and rushed to the sedan their father had bumped into while Stiles turned his attention back to Malia.

“We need to get him inside.”

She nodded shakily. Scott appeared out of nowhere, grasping his Alpha around the waist helping Malia slowly lift Derek to his feet. Stiles’ heart tightened and he watched with paralyzing fear as Derek slumped back into his Beta’s hold, his eyes closed.

Stiles screwed his eyes shut, forcing his mind and body to work. He exhaled and turned to Isaac and Boyd. “Lydia’s at the loft. The keys are in the car.”

They nodded and vanished a second later. Stiles didn’t hesitate, his feet moving before he could register his own actions. They took him through the Hale house, his body buzzing and his heart pounding. He heard Malia and Scott’s reassuring voices and soon found himself walking into a bedroom, watching as the pair lowered Derek onto the bed.

Derek’s sweat covered face screwed up, his teeth baring, canines elongating as he groaned in pain. His clawed fingers moved, curling dangerously toward his shoulder. Stiles jerked forward, his mouth opening to warn them. Malia and Scott reacted. They gasped Derek’s wrists, pinning them to his sides, ignoring the animalistic roar they received for their interception.

“Shh, Derek. It’s okay. We’re gonna help you, dude.” Scott kept saying, his voice softened and comforting.

Something turned inside Stiles. Uselessly he remained frozen, standing by the foot of the bed, not knowing what to do to make this easier for them, not knowing what to be for Derek. He limbs refused to move, immobilizing him, forcing him to watch as Derek arched off the bed, a blood curling scream tearing through the room.

Golden eyes flashed to him. “ _What is this?_ ” Scott demanded, his tone heightened with fear.

Stiles’ body latched onto the moment, reviving itself to answer Scott, to do something other than be a waste of air. “It’s wolfsbane.” He answered, swallowing thickly when he heard the shakiness of his own voice.

“I KNOW THAT!” Scott roared. “Why is he reacting—“

“Scott!” Malia yelled in a hard tone, her body and eyes turned toward Derek. “Stop. This isn’t helping.”

Heavy hurried footsteps drew near, loud in the momentary silence. A body rushed past his and the sight of his sister’s flying curls had him moving in the next breath. Allison moved to Scott’s side, examine the wounded shoulder with a closed off expression.

Without a word, Allison uncurled her fist, revealing a silver bullet. She brought it to her mouth, opening it with her teeth. Rotating, she emptied its contents onto the small bedside cabinet. Stiles came to her side, his lighter already out just as Allison turned to him, snatching it from his offering hand.

The smell of burning wolfsbane filled the room.

Derek’s head snapped over to Allison. Red eyes flash and a second later Malia was on top of her cousin, holding him down as the Alpha jerked to attack.

Stiles’ heart shattered as Derek struggled. His dried up throat felt raw by the words his body was pleading him to say. Allison scooped up the blacked soot, her eyes hard and methodically. Together, with Malia holding Derek down, and Scott keeping watch, Allison shoved the wolfsbane into the wound.

An earth quaking, glass shattering roar tore from Derek. His entire body arched up off the bed as the wolfsbane worked its way through his system. He didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but Stiles closed the non-existent distance between himself and the werewolf. His palm burned against Derek’s cheek as the hunter moved to cup his face and lowered himself down beside the bed, becoming eye level with furious red orbs.

A whoosh of breath expelled from Stiles lungs as he watched Derek turn his head into his palm, his crimson eyes slamming shut. Derek’s tensed up body dropped, sinking into the mattress. A warm breath brushed against his inner wrist at Derek’s calmed exhalation.

A deafening silence claimed the room. Everyone watched Derek, waiting for his next reaction. Stiles barely twitched. The pad of his thumb stroked under a bruised eye, slowly, cautiously. It felt like hours had passed when someone spoke.

“Is he—is he gonna be okay?”

Stiles turned to look over his shoulder, his hand pressing against Derek’s jaw in reassurance that though his eyes couldn’t see him, the soothing air caressing his skin indicated that Derek was alive and breathing.

He stared at the disheveled blonde standing in the doorway, her brown eyes, wide and teary, were locked on her Alpha. Stiles swallowed around the thick lump in his throat, its burning sensation fueling the tears he was trying to keep at bay. He blinked when his vision blurred.

He wanted to nod but he couldn’t move.

“Yeah.” Allison’s kind, gentle voice answered. “Yeah, we got to him in time. He should be fine by tomorrow.”

Erica’s entire body slumped, tears spilling down her cheeks. Stiles watched numbly as Scott stepped toward her, pulling his pack mate in, wrapping his arms around her shaking form. Erica turned, burying her face into Scott’s neck.

A hand grasped his forearm. Stiles’ eyes flashed toward Malia’s onyx eyes. She said nothing and she didn’t have to.

Her eyes expressed the relief they all felt.


	12. I've Lost So Much More Than I'll Ever Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This Chapter contains hints of Child Abuse.

Stiles hadn’t moved an inch. His body refused to relax, to sink into the chair he’d claimed his own as he sat, hunched forward, facing Derek’s passed out form. He couldn’t bring himself to move away in fear he might miss something crucial; a twitch, a grimace… anything.

His chest ached, a wrenching fear striking his heart with every beat as if to punish him for being conscious and unharmed, while Derek laid unconscious and in pain before him. His muscles begged for relief when his body tensed up, like threadbare rope, whenever Derek let out a rumbling groan.

When this occurred, Stiles watched and waited with wide, hyper-vigilant eyes as Malia jumped up from her seat the moment a sound passed her cousin’s lips. He’d sit there, silent like the night, as Derek’s green eyes fluttered open, flickering up. The wolf would let out a pained whimper as he looked around, seeing a world his mind had concocted due to the wolfsbane. It was only when those desperate eyes fell on Malia that things went from bad to worse.

Tears would fill Derek’s sorrowful orbs and something within Stiles would wither and die, piece by broken piece, as he watched the Alpha opened his mouth, muttering words Stiles human ears couldn’t decipher but Malia clearly understood. She’d nod, flashing her neon blue eyes, hushing Derek until those red eyes glowed in return only for his eyelids to flutter shut seconds later.

It was then that Stiles would feel Derek’s fingertips brush against his hand where it rested on the mattress, inches from Derek’s.

He wanted to reach out. God, help him, he wanted to hold onto Derek and never let go but he feared the reaction his touch would cause.

Outside, the sky had turned from a clear serene blue to a deep midnight shade, stars blinking innocently within the black abyss, and Stiles had yet to move.

He distantly heard the bedroom door creak open. From the corner of his eye, he saw Malia turn to the new addition. His heavy gaze remained locked on Derek’s sleeping form, brows furrowing in fear at the prospect that he’d be asked to leave soon.

A hand fell on his forearm and a blurry form lowered itself beside his chair. His tensed muscles relaxed, grateful that it wasn’t someone coming to chase him away.

“Stiles…” Allison spoke his name softly.

Stiles clenched his jaw, stubborn in his refusal to move his eyes.

His sister sighed beside him. Her grip tightened, fingertips digging into his flesh, squeezing his forearm. “Will you at least eat something?”

“No.” Stiles forced out, his voice deeper and rougher. From hours of disuse or the growing lump that had been lodged in his throat since the moment Derek had fallen unconscious, he didn’t know nor did he care.

“I’m gonna check your arm then, okay.”

“It’s fine.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

Stiles moved to shift away from Allison but her hold tightened, hindering his weak escape attempt. A moment of loaded silence passed, with Allison waiting for his confirmation and Stiles not giving her one, before her grip reluctantly relaxed. She stood up and Stiles sighed with exhaustion as he moved to shrug off his jacket.

Clenched his jaw, his skin crawled at the feeling of Malia’s burning observing stare as Allison silently rolled up the short sleeve of his black shirt, exposing the long horizontal scar where the bullet had torn through him before embedding itself into Derek.

He could _feel_ Allison’s disapproval as she got to work, disinfecting his wound with a few dabs and then taping it close. He barely registered the sting of the antiseptic, his mind numb to everything that wasn’t Derek. It was with a tiny tap on his shoulder by Allison that Stiles was pulled back.

Stiles inhaled a breath of strength, imprinting Derek’s visage into his mind before turning to face Allison. He took her in with sharp eyes, running them over her calm expression but although her face revealed nothing, Stiles read the silent message in her eyes.

Biting back a sigh, Stiles turned, glancing toward Derek one last time before he forced himself to move. His body screamed, joints creaking in protest as he stood up from the chair. He met Malia’s eyes and she gave him a small nod. With a fraction of the tense leaving his body at her confirmation, Stiles turned to follow Allison as she walked out of the room.

They didn’t make it far, distancing themselves only a few steps away from the open door. Allison stopped and turned to look at him, her calm façade dropping the instant their eyes met. Stiles took that final step forward, reaching out and drawing her in for a fierce embrace.

Arms latched onto him and her face burrowed into his shoulder. Stiles closed his eyes, pushing away whatever desire he had to return to Derek, focusing everything inside him on his sister. His strong arms wrapped around her small body, fingers comfortingly stroking her back, easing the tension slowly away.

Neither spoke a word, and why would they?

Stiles knew how shaken his sister was after seeing their father for the first time in almost a year, only to have to point her gun at him. He knew how much Allison hated their dad for what he did to Stiles, and their family for what they did in their name.

And just as Stiles knew her inner most thoughts, she knew his too.

Allison knew how he felt about Derek… and how deep those feelings truly ran. She had been there when Stiles had made the stupid mistake of getting too close to a guy on a hunt. She’d been a solid presence, standing strongly at Stiles’ side as he held onto a dying Alex, moments after the other man had told Stiles he was just a phone call away should Stiles ever want to explore whatever it was between them.

That dark night had broken him further apart and to have Derek this close to death… It scared the shit out of him. Stiles had thought, with him gone, nothing bad would happen to the Hale Pack and just a few hours ago one of his worst fears had come true.

Had that bullet hit a vein…?

Allison sniffed, turning her head to rest against her brother’s shoulder. “I spoke to Isaac. Lydia’s safe. I also made it clear I wasn’t leaving this house without you.”

“Ally—“

“Shut up.” His sister cut him off weakly. “You’re not leaving his side. I know that, which was why Isaac and Lydia got everyone to agree to have me sleep on the couch.”

His arms tightened around her and Stiles turned his head to drop a kiss on Allison’s forehead. “Thanks, sis.”

She squeezed him back.

 

*

 

Once again, Stiles found himself back in that uncomfortable armchair. After helping Allison and ensuring she was comfortably tucked in and fast asleep, he had hurried up the stairs, ignoring Malia’s penetrative stare following him as he lowered himself down onto the chair.

He had thought she’d go back to ignoring him. Neither of them had spoken a word to each other since he’d silently taken to watching over Derek with her.

Which was why he jumped in shock at the sound her matter-of-fact voice.

“Why are you helping us?”

Stiles’, whose eyes had been trained on the sleeping werewolf, turned to frown at the woman opposite him. “What?”

“Why are you helping us? Even _after_ we got Derek back and knowing we didn’t want your help?”

Stiles winced, a barely detectable flinch which tightened his features. Instinctively, his walls went up, enclosing around his heart, protecting him from whatever ill-fated words she had planned to throw his way.

“My family needs to be stopped.”

“And that’s your job?” She questioned blatantly. Stiles glared at her. “I’m done explaining myself to you people.”

Dark brown eyes narrowed pensively. There was a beat of silence before she spoke again. “Do you hate your father?”

Angered flames ignited in the pit of his darkened heart. “Excuse me?”

“Do you hate your father? Is that why you want to stop them?” She raised her eyebrows. “I heard what you said. About how your father used you and how you were misled to kill Derek. So I want to know if you are helping us because you want to kill the people who abused you.”

A cold sensation chill him to the bone at the word ‘abuse’. A hallow, distant memory bled through. Stiles felt the phantom aching and blinding pain of fists beating him down. Cold, intimidating brown eyes staring down at him flashed to mind, the icy, hard bellowing tone rung through his ear as it yelled at him to get back up, to _fight like an Argent_.

Then, the memory faded and Stiles remembered those warm blue eyes as they looked over him that very night, easing him onto his bed with soft encouraging words of ‘ _I got you, son_ ’ to get him cleaned up.

“No. I don’t hate my father.” He confessed. “I hate what he stands for.”

Malia nodded, her gaze fixed on him. Stiles saw the way in which her hand tightened around Derek’s, caught the hesitancy in her eyes and the way her lips parted, in the brink of asking something before she snapped them together.

He waited her out, knowing and remembering Malia back in high school. She may be known for her straightforward manner of dealing with things but she was also unclear on how to deal her dilemmas. He suspected that’s why she and Scott worked, when on paper, they shouldn’t.

“Did—“ Malia voiced but trailed off. Her dark brows twitched, frustration pinching her features. “Did you ever love him?”

His heart clenched and the tormenting lump in his throat made itself known once more. Stiles tried to swallow around it, tried to reinforce that protective wall, but something in Malia’s eyes caused him to pause in consideration.

“Did you?” She asked.

Stiles swallowed thickly. “Yes. I did.”

His gazed flickered over to the man in question. He traced the sharp edges of a face that spoke of hardship. Hardships no 19 year old should have to deal with.

“Are you doing this for him? Do you thinking helping us will make him forgive you?”

Whiskey brown eyes flashed to Malia. “No.” He forced out.

“I don’t want his forgiveness.” Malia raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t believe you.” “I’m here as a hunter, Malia. Not as an Argent and definitely not as Stiles Argent.”

“Aren’t they the same person?”

There was a beat.

“Not by a long shot.”

Malia’s eyes bore into his, her judgement weighing down on him. He sensed her doubt, strengthened only by her protectiveness over Derek. She wanted him out of the room and away from her pack that much was clear. Stiles was painfully aware that the only reason he’s breathing the same air as Derek was because he played a crucial role in defeating those who wished to inflict harm upon her loved ones.

A deep, low grumble rippled through the silent space. It reverberated through him, chilling him and warming all in one gripping wave. Malia sprung up from her seat. Moments later, a heart cutting groan tore from Derek.

Stiles’ insides churned and tightened, choking him from within. Derek’s face screwed up, his features twisting, transforming, his teeth baring as he let lose a dangerous growl. Malia’s hands grasped his head, grounding him. Stiles saw her mouth move, uttering hushed words too low to discern for his human ears.

Her lips moved with rapid speed. Derek shook his head.

Stiles felt his throat moved, his voice bursting forth in a frantic tone. “What’s wrong with him? What’s happening?”

But Malia ignored him. She kept speaking, talking to Derek. Her words reached his ears in fragments. “It’s okay… I’m…. He’s…. hurt….”

It made no sense to him. His heart exploded when Derek’s eyes flashed open, ruby red irises bleeding with pain. He sought her out as if he knew she’d be there. Malia voice uttered words without pause, holding Derek still as his body curled into itself.

“Okay… Right Here… Gone… No one….” Malia whispered.

Everything in Stiles was screaming at him to speak up, to find out what the hell was going on. His leaded legs held him back, his knees buckled, and Stiles realised that he was standing as though it were an afterthought.

“What is going---“

Blue eyes flared to life and a growling voice stated, “Get out.”

The harsh order felt like a punch. “ _What?_ ”

“Get out, Stiles. Now!”

Stiles’ body jerked back at the force and the power behind her commanding words. He felt himself stumbling, moving and acting without a mind. Coyote eyes followed after him for a second before they returned to Derek’s crumbling form.

Sweat glistened his ashy faces, hands fisting the sheet beneath him, ripping the material the tighter they enclosed. Derek was in excruciating pain and Stiles knew, he just knew, that this wasn’t the wolfsbane. Paralytic terror claimed him as Malia’s instinctive response came to mind. The way she had spoken to Derek, uttering words only he could hear. The way she flashed her eyes whenever Derek so much as blinked…

They were actions that screamed routine.

Just as Stiles found himself through the doorway, his ears heard something which grasped onto his very fragile heart like a clenching vice grip.

“Stiles… _Stop_.” The words passed Derek’s lips painfully, pleadingly. “Please….”

The world around him became a soundless blur. Body’s shoved past him, hands gripped his arms. Derek vanished from his frozen view as did their voices. His feet were moving, the hand on his arm leading him away from the demise he had inflicted.

Cold air stung his face. There was a creaking noise and he was shoved into his car.

“I don’t know. Just don’t come back unless I call you.”

_Lydia?_

“Okay.” He thought he heard Allison say but he didn’t know.

Nothing made sense except Derek and the pain he had heard in the werewolf’s voice. Images flashed before his eyes like a punishing reel.

Derek looking around with tears in his eyes.

Derek whimpering in agony, he know knew, was due to him.

The world Derek was seeing had him in it, and Stiles was hurting him.

He was hurting Derek…

He was still hurting everything and everyone around him. He was still infecting Derek’s life like the poison that he was.

_Stiles… Stiles… Please… Stop._

Over and over the words played. And every syllable was like a knife to his chest, digging deeper and deeper into him.

What had he done?


	13. If I Only Could... (I'll Be Running Up That Road)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next... Derek's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone. I am back, finally. Thank you all so much for your encouraging comments and patience. I have been away from A03 and have stopped writing for a while, because I had started my first year of College and couldn't seem to come up with anything decent as all my brain energy went into my assignments and tests.
> 
> Hopefully this chapter makes up for my absence. It will be in Derek's pov and from here on out, I will include his pov, mostly so that we can get a sense of his thoughts and emotions and reasons behind his actions.
> 
> I have read through this and have corrected some mistakes. If there are any that I had missed, please let me know and I apologize in advance. 
> 
> Thank You Once Again and Enjoy.

_He couldn’t move._

_His eyes scanned the white abyss. He felt light, as though he was nothing more than the air within the room, floating around without a solid form to ground it. He inhaled and nothing happened. There was no cooling sensation filling his lungs, no chest to expand…_

_He was dreaming. He knew this hell well enough. After the countless nights he’d find himself stuck here, withering and screaming in pain, begging anything and anyone to get him out, to help him… to help them._

_He felt it before he heard it. Something shifted within him, as though the entire structure of the room was being disturbed._

_Thudding reached his ears. His heart tightened and Derek spun around._

_He saw nothing at first, but he didn’t panic. He knew what was coming…_

_He waited and watched. A blurry form appeared out of nowhere, a dark shapeless body, slowly, torturously solidifying as it inched closer to Derek. The louder his steps became, the clearer Derek saw him._

_He came to a stop before Derek. His amber eyes; cold, dark and lifeless bore into pained green eyes. Thin pink lips were tugged into a nasty smirk, a malicious mask covering his face. He looked to be enjoying the suffering he was causing, basking it the glory._

_Derek took him in, following a scripted play written solely for his misery. His eyes ran over the dark grey shirt under a heavy black military jacket, the ink black cargo pants where his gun rested perfecting within his thigh holster to the tightly laced combat boots._

_A silver glint caught his eye. Derek stared at the sharp dagger as Stiles lifted it up, its piercing tip inches from his lips._

_“Still holding on, I see?” He said, his voice still so dark and mocking as it had been two nights ago when he slithered into the only peace Derek should have, to haunt him and torture him._

_Stiles tutted. “Oh, Derek…” Amber brown eyes widened sympathetically. “Why do you do this to yourself? Why you do you insist on holding onto the past? I mean, c’mon, first it was kinda cute, then it became annoying… now it’s just down right pathetic.”_

_Derek swallowed, hardening his glare. He knew this was a dream, but it didn’t stop the aching pain from bursting within his chest, gripping him tight. He tracked Stiles every step with his eyes as the younger phantom slowly circle him, taking him in like a wounded animal._

_“What is it about me that you just can’t let go?” Something cold and metallic trailed down his bare left arm._

_Derek tried to move away but he had no control over himself. He was rooted in place, forced into submission by his own dream._

_“Is it the hope that the guy you were with was real? That the kid you fell for actually loved you?” A hot breathe, fanned against the shell of his ear. “Do you wish I was more like… him?”_

_Derek’s eyes slammed shut. A loud, gurgling sound echoed through the endless white room. Every sound, every gasping inhalation seemed to get louder and louder. Derek turned his head away, but a strong grip roughly grabbed his jaw. He fought against the hold, his neck strained against Stiles’ grip as he forcefully turned Derek’s head forward._

_“Open those eyes, Derek.” Stiles whispered. “Look at him.”_

_A pained moan sounded in front of him. It pleaded and cried all in one awfully familiar whimper. Derek peeled his eyes open, his heart tightened, his stomach churned and bile raised in his throat._

_Glistening whiskey eyes locked with his. A mouth coated in his blood opened, gurgled words coming out. His heart stuttered before squeezing in a useless attempt to get away from the pain that flooded every inch of him._

_Derek felt himself move back, his invisible feet stumbling over each other._

_A bloodied hand, curled as though to grip onto him, reached out, index finger pointed right at Derek._

_He met the eyes of the dying Stiles. He wanted to close the distance between them instantly, wanted to reach out and grasped that hand as those warm, emotional eyes pleaded for him. There was a cold body behind him that sent a warning chill down his spine._

_Derek’s eyes traced the blooded scene, acting out the dream. He took in the shaking body as Stiles gasped for air his body refused to accept. There was a long dagger stuck in his stomach and Derek knew it was the knife that had been pointed at him not so long ago._

_“Is that the Stiles you want back?” A cold voice whispered to him, his tone chilling the entire room._

_The Stiles before him coughed, bringing up more blood. It splattered over his face, dripping down his chin. Derek gritted his teeth together, fighting against the pain that threatened to consume. He had made the mistake of giving in once and had woken up to Malia bloodied beneath him._

_He fought to remain in control._

_“Derek!” A voice yelled. It was rough and urging._

_He couldn’t help but turn around. There was no one but the three of them. The voice called again, it was all around him._

_The dying Stiles gurgled, whiskey eyes tearing as they moved toward Derek. He wanted to turn away, look away from the death he had witnessed a hundred times over. The hand on his jaw tightened, forcing his head in the direction of the Stiles they both knew Derek wanted._

_A deep chuckle echoed through his head, malicious and maddening. “Is that the Stiles you wished I was? Hmm?” He asked rhetorically. “Look at him die, Derek. That’s the kid you fell for. Look at him waste away… See the claw marks?”_

_The knife vanished. Blood soaked clothes became ripped, revealing torn apart flesh._

_“Is that the Stiles you killed?”_

_Derek screwed his eyes shut. A moan broke free, burning his throat. He felt that traitorous tear run down his face. His once dried hands were wet, stained by Stiles’ blood. They vibrated from the life they had taken._

_The phantom whispered with delight. “Your wish came true, Derek.”_

_Derek shook his head in denial. He never wished that! He never wanted Stiles dead---_

_“Oh, but you did. It was him or them, remember.”_

_Derek’s eyes flashed open. All around, masses of dead bodies littered the floor beneath him. The lifeless eyes of his family all stared back at him. He felt their blame. It was his fault..._

_Laura’s head was turned toward their mom. Scott’s body laid sprawled across the floor, bullet holes covering every inch of his torso._

_Shock closed up his throat. He tried to inhale, tried to breathe through the pain but nothing worked._

_This… this wasn’t supposed to happen! Why was this happening!_

_“Don’t you remember? You wouldn’t let him go. And in doing so you caused the death of everyone you love.”_

_Derek’s eyes were cemented on his mom and sister’s dead bodies. They were looking at him, as if blaming him for their deaths… and maybe he was to blame. Maybe this was his punishment for being selfish, for choosing to hold onto Stiles Argent._

_No… No, Stiles came back. He came back. Derek knew this!_

_“Argents' are what your kind fears, Derek. We do not love.” An icy breath washed against his exposed neck._

_His heart ached at the undeniable truth behind those words. He’d been living a lie---_

_“DEREK!”_

_A warm voice screamed at him. Derek’s heart exploded, thousands of emotions coursing through his body in disarray as he spun around, his soul leaping with hope and joy. He was being pulled out! He would be free from his horrid dream soon._

_A body came sprinting toward him, limbs flying, legs kicking, pushing the person closer and closer to him. Derek eyes narrowed, trying to focus on the unclear form._

_“Derek! RUN!”_

_No…. Stiles…?_

_A frantic Stiles was rushing toward him, his urgent terrified voice carrying, echoing. Derek acted without thought, he spun around to the man behind him._

_A devilish smirk met him. There was flash of silver. Derek gasped as the dagger was plunged into his stomach. Everything in him tightened, blood rising in his throat, choking him and spilling from his mouth. He felt himself fall forward, closer to the dark lifeless eyes of Stiles Argent and then, he felt the dagger twist._

His body jerked up, a cry a breath away from passing his lips, lodging itself onto his throat. There was heavy pounding against his ears, hard and painful in his chest. His muscles quivered, his stomach clenching as though the dagger was still there.

Whimpering lowly, Derek gritted his teeth together, his jaw aching from the force. Something warm and wet slithered down his cheeks and he hurriedly wiped it away, hating the physical evidence of his pain. 

Why now?

His dreams never ended in his death. It had always been the death of his loved ones, the murder of his mother and sister. Derek always woke up just as his claws started tearing apart Stiles’ human body, unresponsive to Derek’s plea to stop and then, he’d stand there, like a ghost over the very scene. He’d watch as Stiles died at his feet then the other Stiles would be there, like the devil on his shoulder. 

_“You killed them all, Derek…”_

Ripping the sheets off his sweat soaked body, Derek stumbled out of bed. His knees buckled under his weight but he pushed through, staggering to the bathroom, toward the shower. He could still smell him, Stiles, everywhere he turned. It was as though his very scent had infiltrated the entire body of the house.

Derek stood under the scorching spray of water. He scrubbed every inch of his body, forcing the numbness away, wanting to feeling something, anything, whether it be pain or sorrow. He hated that Stiles still had this hold over him, a nagging presence in his everyday life. 

He wished he could say he hadn’t given the other boy a thought in the six months of Stiles’ leaving. But he couldn’t. Something happened to him, a part of himself allowed Stiles in so deeply that Derek knew it would be years before he truly got over him. 

No one knew how far Derek’s feeling for the hunter went. He hadn’t uttered a word about Stiles to his pack and he tried his hardest to remain as unaffected by his presence as humanly possible, hiding behind an angry, hateful facade.

Hate was the closest thing to… 

With a weighted sigh, Derek turned off the shower and stepped out. He wrapped a clean towel around his waist and padded back to his room. He inhaled long breathes through his nose, seeking the familiar scents of his pack and not the two foreign odors of the Argents'. 

Their lingering blended scents of gun-power, wolfsbane and uniquely individual scents made him uneasy. It like an intrusion in his safe place, his home. 

In a pair of jeans, sneakers and a forest green Henley, Derek made his way downstairs. The house was silent but he detected two calming heartbeats in Malia’s room. He was relieved that his cousin was finally asleep, after having been with him through most of the ordeal: Derek remembered her calming scent, her constant presence soothing his restless mind…. Her and the sweet hint of cinnamon. 

As he reached the ending and made his way over to kitchen, eager to sooth his paper dry throat, Lydia’s voice sounded off right outside the house.

“I know. How’s Stiles?” 

Derek paused, his ears straining, his heart tightening... 

“Stiles is a little shaken up.” He heard the soft voice of Stiles’ sister, Allison, say. “He’s hiding behind his ‘business as usual’ mask of utter bullshit. His working on tracking down Gerard, trying to take the work load off.” 

Derek’s mind flashed to Stiles. Angry voices resonated through his ears, like an echo of a distant memory. He remembered the fire that coursed through his veins from the poisonous bullet, the harsh screaming as Stiles threatened to kill every hunter, him disobeying his father’s orders.

_I am not yours to control anymore. I am not the kid who blindly followed your orders._

_You want to get to Derek, you have to get through me._

Derek had always wondered how a guy as kind and good as Stiles would be this merciless hunter. And he got his answer, all in once single moment.

He thought, once he’d learned the truth, it would made things easier to deal with, yet the conflicting battle between heart and mind Derek struggled with on a day to day basis has only intensified as the new information deconstructed the very idea he had of the man Stiles was.

He had Stiles on one end and Stiles Argent on the other. 

He didn’t know who to trust and he feared that his choice would be the death of the rest of his family.

“Do you guys have any leads?” Lydia asked.

“No. We have no idea where he is. Knowing Gerard, it will be almost impossible to find him.” Allison exhaled. “We’re working on our end. Stiles is pretty abundant on not bothering you all.” 

Lydia paused before adding. “Derek is doing okay.”

His heart tightened, anticipation coiling within in, winding him up with every passing second in which Allison did not reply. The blend of contradicting emotions confused him, sharping the dull throb in his head further. Hope spiked his heart, yet annoyance darkened his mind. Fear boiled his blood, and relief soothed the fire in his chest.

His mind raced, thinking of reasons as to why Lydia had mentioned his health with regards to Stiles’ anxiety? What did it mean? Why were Stiles and Allison working so hard to help them? 

He remembered Stiles talking on the bridge with a man named Sam… His heart had ached at the familiarity in Stiles’ voice as he joked around and opened his heart to this Sam. Derek knew he had no right feeling this way, he hated himself for even reacting to it, because Stiles wasn’t deserving of the emotions he ignited in Derek. 

Erica was right… he was a sucker for punishment. 

“Uh-huh… okay, bye.” 

Shaking himself, Derek moved toward to the kitchen, drowning out Allison’s goodbye with the clinking of plates and the running of water as he poured himself a glass. Cold pancakes waited for him in a plate, and Derek took a seat, neutralizing his expression as Lydia’s footsteps drew closer. 

He cut himself a piece off, and shoved it into his mouth. 

“Oh! Hey.” Lydia’s greeted with shock. Her green eyes widened and he knew she’d put together that he might have overheard her conversation with Allison Argent.

He swallowed and gave her a warm smile. Her shoulder dropped, the light in her eyes brightened just a bit as she closed the distance between them. Derek turned in his seat just in time, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

She exhaled with relief, her arms tightening around his neck briefly before she pulled back. Derek allowed her to take him in. Though the pack worries about one another constantly, Lydia Martin was the one who feared the most. Being a Banshee who could literally predict the death of anyone and everyone close to her, she lived in constant fear that one day her mouth would open and she’d release a grave-turning scream.

“No side effects?” She asked, taking a step back.

Derek shook his head and moved to cut off another piece of pancakes. “Nope.” He took a bite. “I slept it off.” 

Which wasn’t a complete lie. There was still a hint of fire coursing through his veins, something he’d build a tolerance towards. The two weeks he had been in Kate’s captivity had changed him. He felt the change every time someone touched him, he felt it every time he smelt Allison and Stiles’ clinging scent on his pack. 

The days where pain had power over him were over. The moment the wolfsbanes took its effect, he felt nothing. His body simply reacted the way it knew it should but Derek was numb to its excruciating pain.

“Okay, good.” A glint sparked in her eyes as she moved to take a seat opposite him. 

He chose to ignore it, working toward finishing his pancakes. He can’t remember the last time he ate something solid, though he was sure he’d been fed something while he had been in and out of consciousness. 

“Stiles and Allison are working on their end on a way to locate Gerard.” Lydia’s sharp tone broke the mutual silence. Derek grunted as he shoved another piece of pancake into his mouth. “Isaac and Malia are working with them on our original plan.”

He tensed up at the mention of Isaac and Malia being alone and close to the Argents', not only that but _working with them_... He clenched his jaw, both in anger and confusion at the new piece of information he had just been fed by the ever calculating Banshee. 

In the time of his… absence, Erica had explained that it had been Lydia and Scott whom had taken mutual leadership roles, working toward keeping their pack not only intact but focused on the task to get Derek back. It had been Lydia who had taken the initiative to seek help outside of Beacon Hills, to call the one person everyone knew would be able to get him back. 

He should hate her for bringing Stiles Argent back but no matter how hard he tried, all he could feel was relief.

Relief that he’d been right to trust his instincts that his pack would save him. Relief that, in a time where he should’ve felt universally alone, he wasn’t. He had people who cared about him and who loved him as he loved them.

But love was a traitorous thing and in the wrong hands it was a very dangerous weapon. 

“Derek.”

Green-grey eyes snapped up at the call of his name. Derek held her stare, knowing she had more to add, more to say about Stiles. After all, she was the one whom had told him that love doesn’t vanished because the person has. 

Jackson still haunted her heart the same was Stiles did his.

“What?” He asked when the silence dragged on far longer than he was comfortable with. 

Arched brows lifted. “You need to talk to him.” 

“No, actually, I don’t.” Derek’s fork pierced the last piece of his pancake. He chewed it slowly, feigning nonchalance.

“Really? You don’t think we’d have a better chance at defeating Kate and Gerard Argent if you and Stiles are on at least speaking terms?” She asked, her voice dripping condescension. Derek opened his mouth but she cut him off, “I think it’s time you two cleared the air once and for all.” 

“It’s got nothing to do with you, Lydia.” He remarked. “

No?” She tilted her head to the side. “I care about you, Derek, and you and I both know that unfinished business leaves lasting marks that _will_ hurt more later on. You need to let him go, for yourself, and in order to do that, you’d have to talk to him.” 

Clenching his jaw, Derek remained silent. He knew this. The constant dreams about Stiles were evidence enough that the other boy still had some hold over him and the stronger that grip grew, the more vivid his dreams became. This morning’s horror show was a testament to that. 

“You know I’m right.” She said plainly. 

This time, he shot her the harshest glare he could muster. He drew strength from his Alpha spark, fueling the simmering anger beneath the surface. His chest rumbled as a growl grumbled in his throat in warning. 

Lydia narrowed her eyes, finalizing her statement and ending the conversation.

  


*

  


No matter how hard he tried to forget the conversation between himself and Lydia, he found it impossible. There was this nagging voice, taunting him about his ignorance and cowardice. Her words rung clear, speaking the truth Derek had spent months avoiding. Now that they were out there, there was no way he couldn’t not admit them to himself. 

Derek remembered the day his mother and Laura had found in the clearing, howling and growling of anguish and anger. Down on his knees, Derek’s claws were sunk deep into the soil beneath him as his wolf slowly took control over the emotions his human mind couldn’t understand much less deal with. 

Talia Hale had dropped to her knees before him, her brown eyes kinder and softer than he’s ever seen. Her lips were tugged up into an encouraging smile as she gently placed a crooked finger under his chin, lifting his head up. 

Derek couldn’t stop the flooding of tears even if he tried. He allowed them to fall down his cheeks, ashamed of the pain he felt. He remembered inhaling, catching the lingering scent of honey and cinnamon, which increased the heartache ten-fold. Derek had bowed his head, gritted his teeth together to keep his scream in, refusing to voice the pain he knew his mother and sister felt from him. A soft, warm kiss was placed on his forehead and its comforting heat slowly seeped through him.

Laura had appeared at his side, her arms wrapping around his neck, encasing his head as she drew him in. Derek turned and buried his face in the crook her elbow. He cried for hours without end. 

Derek vowed to himself that day that he’d never waste of a drop of emotion on Stiles Argent. The name itself became a curse never to be uttered by anyone close to Derek. He’d known deep within that burying the pain away would only ruin him in the future and he had been right. 

By ignoring what Stiles had done, he’d given way for resentment to fuse with longing, allowed hate to intertwine with love and now, he couldn’t tell those things apart. 

Isaac and Malia gave him updates whenever they returned from the loft, stirring the hurricane of emotions waging on within. 

“Allison and Stiles have reached out to some hunter’s kid… Apparently Gerard went MIA about two months ago. No one has seen or heard from him since but according to their word, there was a plan only those in the know knew about. A plan that would be acted out on a specific day.” Malia had recounted. 

Derek didn’t like the sound of that. He had returned to the dining table were all their plans lay scattered. He examined the forest of Beacon Hills, a land he knew by heart, his mind working without pause, trying to figure out where these hunter’s would take them on. Just yesterday Boyd had mentioned catching a scent but he’d lost it a mile or so later. It was faint but he knew it was foreign, trusting his werewolf instinct when alarms blared in warning.

Derek and Scott went to investigate the location the next day and found nothing amiss. But it was enough to cause alarm, putting himself and his pack on a jittery edge. The weighted cloud of war loomed over them all, promising blood and pain. 

For two days he idiotically assumed he had succeeding in avoiding any thought or reminder of the Argent twins currently living in his territory. His pack seemed to have accepted their need for the two hunters; Erica also appeared more open to following a lead brought to their attention by either of the two. 

That was until the day Malia arrived soaked with the pungent stench of crippling heartache. It struck him like an icy dagger, the cold spreading through him within seconds. In a flash, his mind pieced together an idea as to why his cousin’s eyes which had been wild and lively just this morning were now glimmering with building tears. 

“Lia?” Scott’s voice called out just as Derek jerked forward, closing to the distance between Malia and himself. The other werewolf reached her the same time Derek did. Derek’s hands clutched her shoulders, his eyes searching hers.

“What happened?” Derek asked, his voice hardened and roughened by emotions running wild. 

Malia opened her mouth, “Stiles, he—” She stuttered, shaking her head in a daze.

And it was as though a switch had been flipped. The cold claimed his very soul, numbing the worry he should feel, stunning the logical reaction that should have occurred. His hands dropped from her shoulders, his nails pinched as his claws itched to break free. 

Stiles’ dark smirk from his nightmares flashed before his eyes; the demonic twist in his expression as he basked in Derek’s family’s pain burned itself into his retinas.

“… Derek?” A distance voice called to him.

But Derek was already taking off. The moment Scott appeared at Malia’s side, his body had moved away with the knowledge that his family was safe. His feet pounded against the floors. His hand grasped the handle of the front door, ripping it open.

A burning fury coursed through him, the power humming beneath the surface, shifting him, shaping him into the beast that could hone this hellish rage. 

“Derek!” Malia reaches his ears but it was too late.

Derek took off, ruby eyes blood thirsty. His teeth filled his mouth, his chest rumbled as a roar tore through him. 

His mind went blank, his wolf instinctively racing to the enemy. Derek’s limbs and muscles burned at the force and speed at which he was pushing himself. Malia’s voice rung in his head: _Stiles, he…. Stiles, he… Stiles…_

The strong, tugging scent of gun-power and wolfsbane burned in his nose, angering his wolf further as he stared at the rusty metallic door. Derek grasped the handle of the loft’s door. He didn’t know when he got here, nothing in the outside world seemed to matter now. All he understood was that on the other side of the door beats the heart of the man who had hurt his family. 

The metal bend under his supernatural grip as his arm swiftly swung the door open.

He caught sight of Allison Argent, the glint of silver that sparked from her lifted hand but his mind glossed over her, eyes zoning in on the man standing a good distance away from her. Derek’s nose twitched, their combined scents confusing his hazy mind.

Twins, similar yet not…

Whiskey eyes met his, warm and cautious and Derek snapped. 

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” He roared without thought. Suddenly Stiles was inches from his face. His hands were gripping onto the thin material of Stiles’ wife-beater, the fabric tearing as he shook the other man. _“What did you do to her?!”_

Wide eyes bore his, confusion and disbelief so clear yet it only succeeding in fueling his wrath. Derek’s mind screamed at him to not trust those eyes; that they lie and deceive those who were foolish enough to fall into them. 

“ANSWER ME!” Derek demanded.

“LET HIM GO!”

Shocked brown eyes flashed, hardening in a blink. A force struck the side of his arms, his hands lost their grip on Stiles’ vest and with one last push he was shoved back. He staggered only a step but regained his footing.

His heart thundered against his chest, the knot in his stomach tightening as fear rooted itself deep in his gut. His body shook as his mind raced with thousands of hay-wired thoughts, trying to make sense of what just happened. Slowly, as though from an outsider’s eyes, Derek saw the gun in Allison Argent’s hands, pointed and aimed right at him. Stiles’ burning glare met his and hesitantly, the hunter lifted his now free arm up toward his sister.

“Allison—“ 

“Forget it.” She cut him off harshly. 

Derek’s bright red eyes met her cold dark orbs. He growled at her, teeth bared threateningly. With his mind now slowly comprehending the scene before him, Derek forced himself to remain in place, the thirst for Stiles’ pain dimming to a low desire that burned in the pit of his stomach. 

There was a beat of silence. The Argent twins locked eyes for a second. Allison clenched her jaw and dropped her arm, reluctance clear in her disapproving expression. A click echoed through the heavy silence and Derek absentmindedly realized it was the safety of her gun being flicked on. 

Derek exhaled through his nose, as if to expel some of this uncontrollable force urging to act rather than wait. As the reality broke through the misty cloud that had claimed his mind since the moment he’d taken off, he realized Lydia would get her wish after all. 

Burning green-grey eyes met dark whiskey ones. 

Allison turned and walked away from them. Her flowery scent followed after her as she passed him, only to stop a few inches away. Derek turned and met her icy stare. 

She glared. “Touch him like that again and you’ll be dead before you even hit the ground.” She threatened him, holding their stare to ensure he heard the promise behind her words before she vanished from his eye line.

Derek, clenching his jaw, looked toward the silent hunter. His heart squeezed involuntarily at the sight of Stiles standing tall before him. As Allison’s footsteps faded, a heavy cloak fell over them, bringing a suffocating silence. Words he had planned to speak could not be found, the anger that had burned his veins for months was now overpowered by the heartache he had tried to forget; slowly it rose up, resurfacing full force, refusing to be a prisoner in the back of Derek’s mind any longer. 

Stiles, it seemed, was not at lost for words. “If this is about Malia—“ 

His growl rippled through the tensed air. His muscles strained as Derek fought the urge to close the distance between himself and Stiles. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing!” Stiles exclaimed. “I just told her the truth! I figured she had the right to know.” 

Derek’s dark brows furrowed together, his anger fogging his mind. “Know what?” He asked in a deep voice. 

“About her past! I thought she deserved to know the woman who tried to murder her and killed her family was three feet under the---“ Stiles broke off. His dark eyes narrowed as they tracked Derek’s face. “What exactly did you think I did to her, Derek?” 

Derek opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Stiles stepped closer. “What? Did you think I hurt her? Did you think I betrayed her like the Argent that I am? Is that it?” 

Derek scoffed, malicious words spilling from his lips before he could stop them. “It wouldn’t be that much of a leap, now would it?”

His eyes flickered down, watching as Stiles’ hands curled into themselves, shaking. Arm muscles bulge, veins appearing down the length Stiles’ arms and he caught sight of a weird tattoo, dark and stark against the pale skin: A star inside the shape of a sun. The tattoo of the Argent Sigel he knew was inked into Stiles’ left pec, flashed to mind. Derek’s lips curled in anger, at himself, at Stiles, and everything that had ever happened to them. 

It seemed everything that had occurred, the avoiding, the passing moments, have all come together in this one heavy hearted moment. The realization burdened his chest, holding him down and in place, forcing him to finish what he had started. Derek’s eyes flickered up. Stiles swallowed thickly. “You know what?” Stiles asked, his lips tugging up into humorless smirk. “I’ll give you that. Because you’re right. Nothing brings me more joy than causing your family pain.” He let out a listless laugh. 

Derek glared, silent as the hidden accusation in those words struck him. 

Stiles voice rung through his mind. 

_If they don’t want my apologies then I’m done giving them._

In the back of his subconscious he knew he had acted too fast, had been too cruel, allowing his hatred to control him. Derek felt the shame lurking within, the guilt and the haunting grudge he had given the power to encase his heart, caging it away from any sympathetic emotions that might cloud his judgement once again when it came to Stiles. 

The Stiles from his nightmare drifted through his minds. The hunter and the man. 

“Look, just say the word, and my sister and I will be out of your hair in no time.” Stiles offered, his voice lifeless and cold. His expression became closed off, his eyes blank as he regarded Derek. 

“Is that a threat?” Derek asked, narrowing his eyes. “If I don’t roll over and play nice, you’ll leave us to your family for dead?” 

Stiles tilted his head to the side, mocking a confused expression. “What the hell do I have to threaten you for? You wanna throw my past back in my face, go ahead, but don’t you dare come here and accuse me of things I did not do.” 

Derek’s struggled to remain in control. Warmth and fire burned him from within, his heart and mind fighting for one emotion to overpower while the other demands to be felt too. His anger pushed at his walls, reminding him that it was the one thing he knew for sure won’t mislead him. He had reasons to be angry. His cousin was in tears because of Stiles. It was Stiles’ family currently waging war, promising the demise of Derek’s family. 

But even as he thought this, reminded himself of these past facts, a small voice in head recounted the current events against his will. The fact that Stiles had something to do with Malia’s mother being taken care off, that that was one more threat they wouldn’t have to be worried about. That it was Stiles who answered Lydia’s call, who came back to Beacon Hills to help them… to help him. 

“Nothing to say now?” Stiles’ voice pulled him back to the now.

“I don’t know what to say to you, Stiles.” Derek found himself confessing, his voice exhausted yet strained at the weight of his confession. “Everything in me is screaming not to trust a single thing that comes out of your mouth.” 

“Then don’t.” Stiles retorted coldly. “I don’t need you to believe me. The days were I wanted nothing more than your forgiveness is gone. I’ve accepted the person that I am and the mistakes I’ve made.” 

Derek’s heart squeezed. “And you think that gives you a free pass for what you did. For what you planned to do?” He growled out. “You befriended me, Stiles! You wormed your way into the lives of everyone I loved, planning to put a bullet in my head. How can you expect me to look at you and see nothing but lies and deceit?” 

Whiskey eyes flickered. The iciness drained for a fleeting moment, allowing Derek to see the pain his words had caused. He felt something in him shift, reaching out for that tiny glimmer, for the crack in Stiles’ armor. 

Words spilled from Derek’s lips, each more heart aching than the next. “You remember that, don’t you? You remember how you laughed with Scott? How you joked and conversed with Erica and Boyd and Isaac? What did you say: You watched us long before you even met us? What kind of a person does that?” 

Stiles clenched his jaw, saying nothing. Derek’s insides turned at the pain and the shame he smelt on Stiles, the regret and the misery his words ignited. He wanted to stop. The part of him that still felt something for this man wanted him to stop what he was doing before it was too late… but the son in him, the brother that had lost his family to people like Stiles: People who abused your trust, who made you feel like a weak willed fool, that part wanted him to feel pain.

“My family is dead, burned to ash because of yours.” Derek spat. “Because my mother trusted your aunt. And it makes me sick to know that I was moments away from unleashing the same fate onto my only living family---“

“DO YOU THINK IT WAS EASY FOR ME?!” Stiles screamed, cutting him off. His loud, rough voice seemed to shake the very walls of the loft, his pain and his anger reverberating through Derek. “My own mother killed herself and you know what my father did? He used my grief, twisted it and put me on kill mission. He gave me the man that was responsible for her death!” The hatred in Stile’s tone burned against Derek. He felt its smouldering heat growing as Stiles continued. “I went from knowing my mother not only killed herself but chose to do so. She chose to end her life rather than live on as a werewolf, rather than continue to be mine and Allison’s mom. Do you have any idea what it’s like knowing you weren’t reason enough to stay alive for?! Do you?” Liquid whiskey eyes pleaded with him, tears building up.

Derek swallowed, trying to force the pain away. His body ached to move, his heart yearning to comfort Stiles… He fought against the desire as it coiled up within him, tightening with every word Stiles screamed at him, with every speeding beat of Stiles’ heart that pounding in his ears. 

Stiles shook his head, releasing a lone tear. “Now I am not trying to overshadow what happened to your family. I am not trying to justify what I did to you, but your heart was not the only one that got broken that day.” His deep voice cracked. “I am trying to right my wrongs… how can you not see that?”

Derek looked away at that. No longer being able to take the ache in those amber eyes, the plea to be understood and for Derek to stop… to just stop. A long silence fell between the two. He heard Stiles exhale, saw his tensed shoulder sag as the weight of all those words finally left him. He felt it too… The pressure that had gripped his chest since the day he eyes fell on Stiles in that dungeon, eased and faded away, leaving him feeling weightless.

He felt bare. The anger no longer seemed to want control. The pain was there but it had simmered down, the grief aching his heart with no other darkened thought to strength its hold on him. 

Derek found himself moving, his body gravitating toward a source on which he could drop on. It was only after he felt himself sink into the mattress that he realized he was on his bed. His muscles sighed, giving over to the relief of no longer having to bare the weight of his burdened heart. 

Leaning forward, Derek dropped his head into his palms, his sharp elbows digging to the meat of his thighs, his fingers enclosing around the thick strands of his hair, using it as a purchase as his mind slowly worked over what had just occurred. 

Stiles’ voice haunted his ears, his words repeating itself over and over until Derek felt his pain and he did. His heart clenched, his stomach churned and his eyes burned. He squeezed them shut, pushing those useless tears back. 

Footsteps thudded against the floors, soft and distanced. He vaguely heard the table creak but it all seemed to be happening far away.

A rapid heartbeat reached his ears. Not his, and Derek found himself focusing on its rhythmic thuds. His heart seemed to react instinctively to the sound, trying to match it’s beat. His head ached as his mind tried to come up with reasons as to why, but Derek, squeezing his eyes tighter, forced everything away. 

He was done thinking. He was done feeling…

Stiles sniffed softly, lightly clearing his throat as he too worked on pulling himself together.

Moments passed before Derek opened his own eyes. He blinked away the blurry vision, dropping his hands to run over his face to wipe away any trace of his pain. As his palm ran over dried cheeks, he lifted his head slowly, his eyes following it’s ascend as they run up crossed legs, folded arms and a bowed head. 

Stiles’ deep voice broke the loaded silence. “Look, I get that you hate me—“ 

“I don’t hate you, Stiles.” Derek whispered, both to Stiles and himself. The hard confession did not come with the relief he thought it would. Nothing felt different when he spoke those words. Brilliant whiskey eyes snapped up and locked with his and Derek met the stare, too drained and tried to fight this anymore. “I don’t. I hate what you did to me.” 

Stiles’ jaw flexed but he said nothing.

“After my family died… I was lost. I thought I was… And you then you came along. You took my heart and brought me back to life in those short moment we were together both as friends and...” The growing lump in his throat with withheld emotions. “And then you crush it.”

“I never meant to.” 

Derek’s lips twitched weakly. “It doesn’t matter. You did. And I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that.” 

Teeth sunk into pale pink lips. Derek heard Stile’s heart stutter at his words and he felt the remnants of Stiles’ pain as if they were his own… and maybe they were. He knew, as he thinks he’s always known, that whatever he felt for Stiles went deeper than fleeting love. 

In opening his heart to Stiles, in trusting him and taking a chance on him, he’d unknowingly allowed something else to develop. Derek suspected his mother knew, for she knew exactly what to do and say when it came Stiles Argent.

“I’m not leaving this town until we’ve stopped Kate and Gerard.” 

Derek stared at Stiles, who met him with determined whiskey eyes. They held promise, they held courage. A protective glint lightening those soft brown orbs.

All Derek could offer was, “thank you.”

Though on the surface, everything both Stiles and Derek have wanted to say were spoke, nothing had changed between them. He’d though something would spark which was why he had put off this conversation but now that it had happened, now that every question he had ever had had been answered and all the things he wished to say had been spoke… he felt incomplete. 

The anger and hatred toward Stiles he’d so desperately held onto all those months was gone. The one thing that had centered him, grounded him in some form was no more and Derek had no idea what to do from here onward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Placebo - Running Up That Hill
> 
> The line :"And you'll be dead before you even hit the ground" is from Supernatural. I have always loved that line and it has stuck with me for years. It sounded badass so I used it for Allison.
> 
> Thanks for reading, Remember to Spread Love and not Hate.. <3


	14. I'm A Little Unsteady (I Scare Myself)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is the longest one in this entire story ( I think). I wanted to add something different and lighter and this came about. It's meant to be a growth chapter for everyone in this story.
> 
> This chapter deals wit heavy issues such as:
> 
> -Lack Self-worth
> 
> \- Child Endangerment that is borderline abusive (Depending how you want to look at it. I personally view it as abuse)
> 
> Enjoy <3

Stiles closed his eyes and exhaled. The pine scented breeze kissed his skin, cool and soothing. The hard, rough surface of the tree stump he was sitting on had numbed his ass an hour or so ago, but Stiles could care less.

He breathed in the silence and the seclusion the Beacon Hills woods provided, trying to revive his otherwise blank mind and closed off heart.

Since that day with Derek two days ago, Stiles had felt cold and… incomplete. Something had been taken away from him that day, he didn’t know what but he felt it. Every second of every day, something within him felt amiss.

Allison noticed the second she returned from where she’d gone off too, coming to stand before Stiles as he stood statuesque against the table, eyes staring off and worlds away. She’d cupped his chin, lifted up his bowed head.

Stiles remembered the anger that flared in her eyes. Her body had turned a second later, angled toward the loft door but it was only the grasp of Stiles’ hold on her wrist that had stopped her. Her head had snapped over to him, mouth already opening but she paused.

She saw something in him in that moment and the anger dissipated. A shaky breath later, he had his sister back in his arms, holding onto him as neither made a sound.

_I don’t think I can ever forgive you._

That was it. The final nail being slammed into the coffin that was Derek and Stiles’ past.

When Stiles had heard those words leaving Derek’s lips, each confessing syllable sinking into him, it iced whatever past hope he’d been holding onto. He had repeatedly reminded himself he didn’t want Derek’s forgiveness because he didn’t deserve it.

Forgiveness was never about the other person. Stiles knew that now. Forgiveness was given so that you could feel good about yourself. And Stiles was past feeling anything good.

Exactly as Gerard Argent had intended the moment he’d told his dad that he would be taking over Stiles’ training. Gerard had beaten out the self-worth in him, broken down whatever foundation his mother and father had built for him since Stiles had been old enough to hold a gun.

_“You’re a soldier, Stiles! Fight like one!” Gerard commanded._

_At nine years old, broken and beaten down, Stiles remembered that order piercing his very soul. He had wanted to stay down, he wanted it to be over but Stiles couldn’t disappoint his family – his dad like that._

_“There you go.” Gerard encouraged with twisted prided as Stiles staggered to his feet, stumbling just a bit as he found his footing. “See. That’s what I want to see. Orders are what you are meant to follow. Nothing matters when you are on a hunt, except doing as you’re told.”_

_Wiping away the blood dripping down his nose, ignoring the pain throbbing through his entire body, making so Stiles didn’t know what was what, he forced himself to glare back at his grandfather, showing no emotions, remembering that ‘emotions are nothing but an inconvenience’._

_Hours later, with his father yelling at Gerard right outside his room, Stiles recalled how he tried to hear past the ringing in his ears, trying to focus on something other than the need to vomit because of the pain._

_“That’s it. You’re done. I’m taking over Stiles’ training.” Chris Argent said, finality set deep in his tone._

_“And teach him what? That boy needs to learn that in this family, men have one duty and that is to follow the women’s command. Stiles needs to know how to be a soldier.”_

_“You are training him to be a mindless and obedient attack dog.”_

_“Because that’s exact what he is.”_

 

Stiles exhaled shakily as those words rung through his head. He never saw anything wrong with what Gerard was doing because his dad followed his mom’s and Kate’s orders without protest. He knew, the moment that gun was shoved into his hands that one day Allison would be giving him orders he was no place to refuse.

They were the Argent twins after all. Their family’s legacy lived on through them and it took years for him to understand that a ‘legacy’ was not something he wanted to be shouldered with. It took Allison coming to him one night, at age 15, confessing to him in a shaky tone that she didn’t want to be his leader but his partner for him to see a path different than the one his family was taking.

Looking down, Stiles traced the gleaming silver 9mm in his hands, feeling the familiar weight of it in his palms. The strength and confidence he once felt whenever he had the gun in his hands was lost. It stirred nothing within and that emptiness brought Gerard’s words back to mind, leaving Stiles to wonder if there were maybe some truth in those words.

When on a hunt, Stiles’ first priority had always been Allison. Her safety and her life weighed more than his and it made him sick to realize how worthless he truly felt. He was shaken to the core when he stared at himself in the mirror this morning, aching of the hatred burning deep in his chest at what stared back at him.

He couldn’t take the sudden onslaught of emotions. He’d taken off, telling Allison he needed some air and he just drove. He drove the Camaro through the beaten-off path into the woods, his mind blank and his body numb. When he had no more road left, he’d parked his car and walked the rest of the way with no destination in mind.

It felt like hours later before his feet came to a halt before a supernaturally large tree stump, it’s clean and soothe surface causing his skin to crawl and the hairs on the back of his neck to stand in alarm. With that being the first time his body had reacted since he could remember, Stiles had hopped on and lowered himself down onto the stump, losing himself to his racing mind, allowing every past memory and sickening realizations to speed through.

The sun had heated the world around him and Stiles had long since shrugged off his leather jacket, rolled up the long sleeves of his army brown Henley to cool off. Since his being here, a cooling breeze had picked up and Stiles imaged it blowing away the darkened that surrounded him.

Leaves rustled as the wind blew through, the sound louder than ever. The trees danced, letting in random streaks of sunlight to beam down on him but once again, he could not feel it’s affect like he once used to.

The rustled grew louder and Stiles’ felt himself tense up. His hand curled around his gun as he calmly turned his head to the right, his eyes narrowing, falling on a form steadily drawing closer. Stiles took in the dark grey denim jacket, the plain white shirt and the dark jeans. His dark brown eyes were fixed firmly on Stiles as he came to stop a good distance away, crooked jaw stubbornly set.

Biting back a sigh, Stiles turned around, hand reaching for his leather jacket, ready to walk away when Scott’s voice, clear as the day, said. “Mind if I join you?”

Stiles froze, his head snapping over, a frown settling on his face. Confusion mangled his mind and he opened his mouth, speaking for the sake of saying something, “it’s your land. Do want you want.”

Scott McCall nodded and closed the distance between them with slow and measured steps. Stiles turned back around, returning his eyes to the gun in his hands. From the corner of his eyes, he spied Scott looking at the tree stump before shrugging and hoping onto it.

A cautiously open voice spoke up. “You know this is called a—”

“A Nemeton.” Stiles finished off. “Yeah, I know.”

Awkwardly, Scott shifted. The action igniting a glimmer of amusement within Stiles, remembering the awkwardly shy yet openhearted Scott McCall he had once had the honor of calling a friend. Back then, Scott had the dopiest, most innocent face any supernatural creature could have, from his puppy eyes right to his dimpled smiled but this Scott sitting before him looked nothing like that kid.

Since returning to Beacon Hills, Stiles hadn’t once seen Scott smile when back then Scott’s smile was just part of his daily school experience.

“Deaton says it’s kinda like a Hell mouth. It’s dormant right now but if it were to be activated, it would be like a magnet for every supernatural creature out there.” Scott added, forcing a light tone. “Deaton’s my boss, by the way. He’s also sort of Derek’s emissary but---“

Stiles gritted his teeth, knowing Scott had caught his wince at the mention of Derek’s name. “What do you want, Scott?” Stiles asked harshly, glaring over at the werewolf.

Scott’s hesitated, his lips parting. “I, uh, I wanted to talk. To you.”

“About what?” Stiles turned to face him completely. “I can save you the trouble by informing you that whatever you have to say to me has already been said.”

Lacing his hands together, Scott cracked his fingers. “I don’t think it has.”

He should feel anger, or annoyance at the idea of having to go through this once more but once again, his body was numbed to any emotions. It was as though he’d been drugged into a hazy state, where nothing seemed to affect him.

Sighing, Stiles turned his gun over in his hands, placing it onto his jacket. The tension in Scott’s shoulder’s dropped and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Okay, so,” Scott started, inhaling soundlessly. “I know I’ve been an asshole to you. I know I’ve treated you and your sister like shit and I wanted to apologize for that.” Puppy brown eyes met his earnestly. “Seriously, dude. I hate myself for allowing your past to define you when you are clearly trying to do the right thing here, considering this all sort of started with me.”

Stiles clenched his jaw, the ache in his heart a dull throb. Scott McCall had been one of the many players in life’s twisted version of chess, which had ultimately led to his mother checkmating. She’d gone after Scott and in doing so, had put into play the motions that would put her in Derek’s path and between Laura’s teeth, inevitably ending with her driving a knife into her heart.

“You’re not to blame for my mother’s death, McCall.” Stiles said in a dismissive tone.

“Maybe not but… I am to blame for treating you like crap and for shoving your mistakes into your face. And for that, I am sorry.”

Stiles’ whiskey orbs caught in the sunlight and they flickered over to Scott as the werewolf sat beside him, eyes wide and open, sympathy and apology swimming in them.

“Apology accepted.” Stiles nodded.

Scott paused, as though not believing him, before he exhaled moments later. He looked away from Stiles and down at him hands, playing idly with his finger. With the guilt and the burden of his treatment toward Stiles now erased, Stiles waited for Scott to bid him goodbye and go about on his merry way.

Minutes passed and Scott remained beside him.

“And thank you for what you did for Malia.” Scott turned, giving him a kind smile. “It means a lot to her. Knowing the truth about her mother and what happened to her.” Scott paused. “I know it will help her in accepting our future more.”

 _Our_ future… Stiles flashed back to Scott pressing a kiss to Malia’s forehead, to the werecoyote grounding him whenever it would seem Scott’s emotions got the better of him. He thought about Kira, the sweet girl who seemed to bring out the light within Scott, making him smile and showering with affection every chance she got.

He knew Malia was nothing like Kira and once again, Stiles wondered how and when Malia and Scott connected to a point where they ended up falling for one another after years of being in the same orbit.

A tap to his knee pulled him back to the present and Stiles frowned, watching Scott’s hand retreating before looking over to the sheepish yet amused boy. “You can ask, you know.”

“Ask what?” Stiles asked, playing dumb.

Scott rolled his eyes. “About Malia and I? I’ve seen you looking at us, wondering why and how.” He gave Stiles a knowing look. “The pack did it too at first.”

Taking the peace offering for what it was; an invitation for Stiles to talk with Scott, without their past looming over them like a blaring reminder as to why the two should not be sitting beside one another much less talking, Stiles asked. “Why and how?”

Scott laughed lightly, dimples appearing on his cheeks. “ _Well_ we’ve always been good friends. Been there for one another without either of us actually realizing it, you know? But she was always my pack, nothing more, nothing less. And I was the same to her and then things took a turn for us both. Kira left Beacon Hills and Malia lost her father before even getting the chance to know him at all.” A solemn expression appeared. “I became angry, Malia became distance and in the midst of it all, we gravitated toward each other. We starting spending more time together. And before I knew it, it was her touch and her voice that was centering me when I felt more wolf than human and I’d spend my days trying to get her to smile and laugh and just… be Malia Tate again.” A soft chuckle escaped Scott, fondness clear in his relaxed features.

Involuntarily, Stiles’ lips began tugging up in a small, hesitant smile. A dimpled grin met his and Scott raised his eyebrows and shrugged with nonchalance. “My mom says love hits you when you least expect it. It still blows my mind that she’d been there, this whole time and I never noticed.”

Stiles hummed in response, ignoring the stab of pain in his heart at the words ‘my mom’. He could see it now and a part of him understood everything Scott had told him about himself and Malia: Often times, the person you might end up falling in love with had been there by your side for years without you realizing it, it was only when the circumstances were just right that things fell into place for you.

“I’m happy for you guys, Scott.” Stiles vocalized.

“Thanks, man.” A shoulder brushed against as Scott leaned over for a gentle push. He was testing the waters, Stiles realized. “So you got anyone back in Kansas?”

Stiles shot him a look and Scott lifted his hands in surrender. “Just tryna make conversation, dude.”

“That is painstakingly clear.” Stiles retorted, huffing in amusement. “And you answer your question, no, I don’t. My sister and I don’t really have time for dating with our job.”

“Good thing for Isaac then.” Scott grinned.

Pausing, Stiles’ dark brows furrowed together. Turning slowly, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the werewolf before him. “And why is that?”

The innocence in Scott’s eyes dimmed. He opened his mouth but thought better of it the next second, locking his jaw together with an audible clunk.

“Scott.” Stiles sounded out his name, harder and colder than his previous tone, knowing full well what Scott meant by that remark but wanting to hear it from the werewolf himself.

He thought back to Isaac and Malia’s visits, how they offered their help in finding where Gerard might be, going off to check out safe houses Stiles knew about at his or Allison’s request. He remembered the way Isaac Lahey’s eyes were locked solely on his sister as he listened intently to whatever she was saying.

At first Stiles thought that although he and the Hale Pack had come to some understanding, Isaac hated him but now… Now he’s starting to think Isaac’s lack of interest in what he had to say had absolutely nothing to do with him.

“Great.” Stiles stated, huffing out a breath as he felt his smirk grow on his lips. “And I was just starting to get along with some of you.”

A cute frown formed on Scott’s worried face. “Meaning?”

With wicked whiskey orbs, Stiles stretched his smirk, feeling the tightness behind it and knowing Scott caught it too. “Meaning, Scott, if your beta thinks of making a move on my sister, I’m gonna put a bullet in his leg.”

Scott’s jaw dropped as he gaped at Stiles in shock, taking in the seriousness of his expression, the promise in his threat. He narrowed his eyes cautiously, “Is this a brother thing?”

Stiles’ raised his eyebrow. “What do you think? She’s my sister and that asshole has been weaseling his way into her life by acting like he just wanted to be of assistance.”

A light bark of laughter escaped Scott, his body physically jerking forward. Stiles’ heart tightened and skipped at the sound, a tiny pulse of warmth filled him at the sound.

Some feeling sparked to life within him, growing in a hopeful minute before losing its strength and fading a second later. It left him slowly, draining out of him like life itself.

“You gotta admit, it was a smart move though.” Scott’s voice reached his ears, hallowed out and far away as though Stiles was submerged in water and nothing was reaching him clearly.

He nodded, his body knowing how to respond when his mind lost momentary control.

A cool and mutual silence fell over them. After a couple of calming breaths, a shadow fell over the side of his face as Scott stood up and hopped off the large tree stump. Stiles tracked his movement with his eyes. The tension that have stiffened Scott’s posture not so long ago was gone, his relaxed shoulders slowly rising and falling as the werewolf inhaled and exhaled.

“Listen,” Scott spoke, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “We are having a dinner thing tonight. Lydia’s idea. Something about having one normal night were we could just be.” He shrugged and shook his head, expressing his confusion about the decision. “Anyway, we wanted to let you know that you and Allison are free to join us.”

A heavy weight dropped in the pit of Stiles’ stomach. “Who’s _we_?” He asked in an emotionless voice.

“The pack. _All_ of us want you there.” Scott’s eyes flickered down and away for a second before returning back to Stiles, gaze stronger. “We all talk about trying to move on from the past but we’re not actively doing it.”

Stiles saw the hope in Scott’s eyes, noticed the way his chest had stopped moving as he stared at Stiles.

“I’ll talk to Allison about it.”

Scott’s chest heaved and dropped, a small grin ticking up his lips. He shuffled back and nodded. “Hopefully I’ll see you soon.”

Stiles jerked his eyebrows up in response, saying noting. He watched as Scott turned and jogged away, glancing over his shoulder only once to toss Stiles a smile before taking off, running back to his pack and leaving Stiles alone to his thoughts.

 

*

 

“I still disagree with the whole no guns rule.” Allison said for the third time in the passenger seat as they come to a stop outside of the Hale house, the Camaro rumbling beneath them before cutting off abruptly as Stiles pulled the keys out of the ignition.

“Oh shut up,” Stiles rolled his eyes as he got out the car, eyes landing on Allison on the other side. “You and I both know you have a knife in your boot.”

A soft breeze ruffled Allison’s hair, a few strands framing around her strong jawline, accentuating her playful grin. She tilts her head to the side, raising her eyebrows condescendingly and Stiles did the only logical thing and gave her the finger.

“Oh,” Allison chuckled, eying Stiles as he rounded the car, his finger aimed directly at her as he does so. “You know what you can do with that finger, big bro?”

Stiles dropped his hand when he reached her side, tossing her a disgusted look. “You’re fucking sick. I’m your brother, and you don’t say shit like that about your brother.”

Allison snorted, spinning around to face him and walking backwards. “Between the two of us, who was grinding against a stranger right in front of the other person?” She raised her arched eyebrows at him, not at all concerned about the set of steps coming up behind her. “You remember that, right, Stiles? You remember how awkward that was for me?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh please, we needed the money and that dumbass was betting a lot on that pool game. I had to use my European charm.” A smirk blossomed his face, a lightness forming over his heart. “And you’re just jealous because you didn’t pick up he didn’t swing for your team.”

“Bite me.” She reached out and shoved his shoulder, pushing him a few stumbling steps back. She spun around, her princess curls flaring with the movement and she jogged up the steps, steady and calm.

Without waiting for him, she reached up and gently knocked on the door. As Stiles took in the easy way she held herself, his heart warmed, knowing that that whole bantering act was both a form of distraction and a way to chase away whatever worry and fear that might take hold of him.

Reaching her with a few quick steps, Stiles tossed her a grin which she returned with equal love. There was shuffling on the other and a second later, the door was opened and a light eyed Lydia greeted them.

“Hey!” She instantly stepped aside, her hair braided gently to the side, with soft curling tendril framing her face. Dressed in a casual outfit, Stiles felt the warmth in her smile as he stepped through the front door after Allison.

Voices could be heard from further in the Hale home and with Allison mirroring his steps, they followed after Lydia as she led them to the western part of the Mansion. The volume of polite chatter steadily grew and before he knew it, Stiles was entering through a glass slide door where a large dining table claimed most of the room, the table stacked with various assortment of food, some seats taken by some members, Derek included, while other’s stood around or leaned against someone’s chair.

“Stiles, Allison, hey.” Scott was the first to greet them, his grin softer and more welcomed. The angry wolf he’d come to associate with the new Scott McCall remained in the haunted brown eyes but in that moment Stiles was taken back to high school when all other eyes fell on him.

He felt Allison step up beside him and swallowed around the awkward tension wounding up his body as he nodded in greeting to Scott.

Then, two amber bottle were offered out to them. Hesitantly the twins took in, their eyes landing on Erica who stood before them. His breath hitched in his throat when a light smirk slide on her face, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun, her make-up so bare, she appeared naked.

“This is all we got.” She said.

Stiles’ hand flexed around the cold bottle in his hand, a rush of emotions taking over at the lack of distain and hatred in her voice. He couldn’t help but look around him, searching for the Hale Pack he’d got to know since returning, the hateful werewolves who saw him something deserving of Hell itself, but all he saw were hesitant eyes.

There was fizzing sound and Allison hummed. “This is good beer.” She complimented, breaking the awkward silence effectively with her bright tone. “Better than the water downed crap we were stuck with, right?” She elbowed him.

Stiles snorted, taking the metaphorical hand she’s offering him. “It was disgusting.” He agreed, twisting the cap of the bottle, eagerly taking a large gulp, the cooled liquid wetting his paper dry throat. Stiles nodded to Erica. “This is good, thank you.”

She glanced over her shoulder to her pack for a brief moment, turning back to Stiles and Allison with a smile. “Figured you two would be the beers kind people. The other’s wanted to have water and juice out.”

A hand landed on his arm and Stiles turned to Lydia. The banshee gave him an encouraging smile, her hand tightening a bit, gently urging him to step further into the room. His heart spiked, nerves crackling through him like live-electricity as he forced himself to move.

“Lydia was the one who wanted water and juice, Erica.” Malia corrected where she sat, pointing a French fry at the blonde, before plopping it in her mouth.

“Dude, you’re supposed to wait before starting.” Isaac said, moving around the table to take a seat all the while nodding a subtle greeting to Stiles and Allison.

The other’s moved too, taking Isaac’s lead. They maneuvered around without much trouble, dropping down on chairs as though they’d been assigned the placement and maybe they were. With Derek at the head, it appeared a pack standard format. Maybe the Hale’s were those packs who sat in order of Pack status but as Stiles eyed them all for a second he instantly dismissed the idea.

Had they been following that particular archaic trait, it would easily be assumed that Malia and Scott would be seated on opposites of the table, flanking their Alpha; with Malia on the left due to her familial connection and Scott on the right because he was clearly the second in command. Following them would be Isaac and Erica, then Boyd and Lydia. However, Scott moved further from Derek’s side and Malia sat a space away, with Erica being beside Derek and Isaac flanking his left side.

“For what?” Malia’s questioning voice drew him back to the present. “We were told to wait for Stiles and Allison. They have arrived. Therefore, I’m allowed to eat.” She reported, her dark brows drawn together. “I’ve been human long enough to know that.”

Scott laughed fondly from the other end of the table. Lydia’s hand on his arm was a guiding touch, and Stiles happily followed her, taking the two seats the left. He sat down beside Scott, who grinned at him and Allison took hers, an easy air surrounding her as though this was not at all out of the ordinary.

He envied her acting ability. One would never say his sister wasn’t utterly brave and if they did, they clearly didn’t know her. Here she was, seated at table with werewolves, casually sipping on her beer as she stared at Malia, listening intently.

“Thank you for inviting us.” She said, her eyes falling on Derek briefly, before moving to Scott who’d done the inviting. She gave him a comradery nod and Scott smiled back at her.

She was trying and he appreciated that. He hoped, with this dinner, that the Hale pack would see Allison for who she was and not just as another Argent. Out of the two of them, she was the one who deserved a chance. With Stiles’ mistakes falling on her shoulders too, the Hale pack had instantly singled her out as an enemy, unaware that she’d been the driving force behind him helping people like them in the first place.

“It was nothing.” Scott shrugged with ease.

“And,” Lydia added from her spot opposite Allison. He noted no one claimed the other end of the head table and he wondered if it was out of respect for their former fallen Alpha, Laura Hale. “This way, we can find out what you’ve been up to.”

Stiles, whom had been in the midst of taking a sip of his beer, frozen, positive he’d misheard her. He lowered the bottle down, hallowing out his cheeks, buying the time to calm himself before swallowing thickly.

“You want to what now?” It was Allison who spoke up.

From the other end, Isaac spoke up. “We heard about you guys. How you two have been helping other packs and stuff. Kind of curious about the change of heart.” His blue eyes were fixed on Allison as he said this and Stiles bristled, a protective urge spiking through him. He caught Scott’s ‘told you so’ expression and fought the desire to flip him off.

Allison hummed, bringing her own bottle to her lips to take a sip before answering. “There was never a change of heart.”

Everyone froze. Isaac opened his mouth and Malia spoke up. “Can you pass the steak?” She huffed with frustration. “I’m starving.”

The request jolted everyone into action. Soon, bowls were being passed around, hands stretched out, fingers wigging with eagerness. Stiles politely took whatever was offered to him, all the while, feeling the pair of eyes burning into him.

He wanted to look over there, wanted to see if his pack’s change of heart included him too but no matter how much he mentally psyched himself up, his eyes always fell on Malia or Isaac, a cowardly refusal to go further than them.

Their last encounter still ignited a heavy, low feeling within. His mood fluttered around, unable to find one emotion to latch onto. He felt nervous being here, a kind of nervous that reminded him of his first hunt. The fear of disappointing someone, though he couldn’t fathom who that someone was, and the shame of needing to have someone’s approval. He had no idea what he’d walked into, how this could end and why this was happening. The entire situation seemed within his grasp, yet so far away.

“Thanks.” He numbly said to Scott when the last empty space of his white plate was filled. Looking down, his stomach tightened with hunger, mouth salivating at the smell that wafted up his nose.

Allison’s knee bumped into his and Stiles turned belatedly, as though in a state of trace, to see the calm mask on his sister’s face, noting the tiny twitch of worry in her brow. He knocked her back in reply, reaching for his beer to take another gulp.

“So!” Scott said, voice muffled by the amount of food shoved into his mouth. “The whole—“

“Scott!” Erica exclaimed, face contorted in disgust. “Swallow your fuckin’ food!”

The werewolf turned, mocking a glare as he made a show was gulping down his food, his Adam’s apple ascending and dropping slowly, demonstrating just how much had been shove into his pie hole.

“So,” Scott sounded out again, rotating his head to face Stiles once again. “Explain that whole ‘change of heart’ thing?” He asked, voice earnest and genuine.

It was then that he found himself moving his gaze over the end of the table. Thick dark brows were pulled tightly together, his plate of food forgotten before him. Leaned forward, with a beer bottle of his own dangling from the tip of his fingers, Derek’s eyes bore into his, unflinching at the contact. He continued to stare at Stiles, holding the gaze until the hunter was forced to look away, heart and mind once again boggled.

“Why do you want to know about us?” Allison asked. She ran her eyes over the table, taking in the Hale pack, trying to see their hidden agenda when Stiles knew there was none.

Boyd cleared his throat lightly, before answering her in his baritone voice. “Scott thinks us knowing about you will make all of this less awkward.”

Erica’s lips tugged up into a smile. She shot her boyfriend as fond look. “What my lovely man means is we all agreed we have to try and move past… all that horrible shit and we figured we should get to know you two better, instead of making assumptions.”

“Like you’ve been doing since day one, you mean?” Allison asked her, accusation apparent in her otherwise casual tone.

Erica ran her tongue over her top teeth, nodding in defeat. “What can I say? I’m a protectively mean kinda bitch.” She shrugged unapologetically.

Allison tipped her bottle back, taking a noncommittal gulp and Stiles turned his attention back to Scott. “What do you want you know?”

“Wait, really?” He asked, stuttering incredulously.

Stiles shrugged as though his heart wasn’t currently lodged in his throat. “Sure.”

Malia leaned forward, eyebrows raised high up. “I got a question!” She lifted up a fry and Stiles didn’t bother trying to suppress the chuckled the spilled past his lips. He leaned back into his own seat, placing his beer down in favor for a fry to munch on.

His shoulder brushed against Allison’s. The blurred outline of his sister’s profile let him know she too was staring at Malia.

“Have you ever been possessed?” She asked, dark brown eyes alight with curiosity. “I saw the tattoo and Lydia said it was for demon possess. Is that why got it? ‘Cause you guys were possessed? How does that feel?”

Allison chuckled lightly and Stiles smirked, taking in the varied expression on the Hale pack’s face. Some looked wildly eager for the answers, the ‘some’ being Erica and Malia, and some had paled the second the word ‘demon’ had left the coyotes’ mouth, Scott and Isaac.

Boyd remained stoic and Stiles refused to look at Derek.

“We were never possessed.” He answered her lightly. “And we got the tattoo the second we started hunting as it is apparently required.”

“Why on your arm though?” Lydia asked. “Seems a little risky.”

“Stiles thought it looked hot on Dean, so he figured it would do the same for him.” Allison quipped without missing a beat.

“Hey,” Stiles’ head snapped over to her. “Don’t even bullshit. I was not the one who gaped at the dude the second we met.” He nodded somewhat cockily at her. “Yeah, remember that?”

“Who’s Dean?” Isaac pipped up from the other end, his eyebrows furrowed together. “Is that your boyfriend?”

A mild blush warmed his sister’s cheeks and Stiles took the bait, turning with raised eyebrows to Isaac. “Who you asking?”

A sharp pain ignited in his leg by a shift kick and Stiles jaw snapped shut to muffle his grunt of pain. He shot his sister a menacing glare as she answered the all too eager curly haired schmuck. “Dean is no one’s boyfriend. He’s like 30.”

“Still hot, though.” Stiles grumbled under his breath. A thud came from head of the table. Stiles eyes snapped over to see Derek cutting into his steak, his muscles shifting under his Henley with ever back and forth movement.

“How hot we talking here?” Erica asked, eyes narrowed with question. “Like Greek God level hot or Ryan Reynolds hot.”

“Hey, Ryan’s hot.” Scott defended only to freeze when all every snapped to him. “Uh, you know, objectively.”

Stiles clenched his jaw to suppress his laugh, while Erica giggled under her breath and Boyd shook his head as though embarrassed for Scott on his part.

“Oh, relax, McCall.” Stiles took a risk and joked. “No one is questioning you heterosexuality.”

Scott fumbled around, his lips moving before words even left his mouth. “I don’t mean anything by it. Like there is absolutely nothing wrong with admitting—“

“Scott, shut up.” Malia interject and her boyfriend casted her a grateful look.

“You always gotta spoil my fun, Malia.” Erica grumbled in dismay.

“But back to Stiles and Allison,” Scott called out, unnecessarily loud. “What made you jump ship and start helping our kind?”

This time, Stiles intentionally looked over to meet his sister’s eye, waiting for her agreement before revealing such a personal detail. He saw her hesitation and waited patiently for her answer. When she finally nodded, Stiles paused a beat before slowly turning back to the others.

“You remember me having a tattoo on my chest?” He asked instead.

Confused glanced were exchanged and everyone nodded cautiously.

Allison turned to her food, appearing to all who looked her way uninterested in the conversation but Stiles saw the stiff set of her shoulder.

“Yeah, it has the Argent crest on it, right? And some kind writing if I remember correctly.” Scott supplied.

“ _‘Nous protégeous ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-memés’_.” A perfect French accent recited. Stiles turned to Lydia and Allison paused to look at the banshee too. “‘We protect those who can’t protect themselves’. Honorable code, but not your families.”

Allison nodded. “It’s not.” She placed a piece of stake in her mouth.

“It’s ours.” Stiles continued to say. “It was always our dream, I guess you could say, to be different than other hunters. And now, we are doing just that.”

“Just ‘cause?” Isaac asked, a small bite in his tone that Stiles immediately picked up.

Calmly he shook his head. “Allison and I always wanted to help instead of hunt but then—” He swallowed, forcing lump in his throat down. “But then our mom died and, we were forced to forget about it.”

“I’m sorry.” A sympathetic voice said beside him and Stiles smiled over to Scott, feeling the stiffness of it and knowing the others saw it too.

He still found it hard, speaking about their mom but the Hale pack had been there when Stiles and Allison had confronted their father, had listened to the words he’s spoken, so they knew the truth, they knew why Stiles had done what he’d done.

“It was Allison’s idea, actually.” Stiles said softly, turning to his sister suddenly. She froze, her head snapping over to him in shock, meeting the proud smile on her brother’s face. “She wanted to be a better, different kind of hunt.”

Allison’s jaw flexed and a glimmer of emotion warmed her chocolate eyes. Faint dimples appeared in her cheeks as ghost of a smile formed.

“Really?”

The Argent twins looked over to Erica who had asked the question, her big brown eyes widened incredulously, a sparking of clarity in her eyes as she looked upon his sister in new light, seeing her for the first time as the amazing person she truly was.

“Yes.” Allison answered, voice firm. “I wanted to help supernatural creatures. And now I do. _We_ do.” She added, with a slow emphasis on ‘we’.

Some seemed to have sensed her desire to not continue on the topic because their eyes lowered to their respective plates. He glanced over to his sister, winking at her in comfort and she knocked her knee against his once more. From the corner of his eyes, he caught Lydia smiling at them.

“So, are the Winchester’s as cruel as the rumors say?” Lydia spoke up after a couple minutes of mutual silence.

Stiles shook his head. “Nah, not at all.” He reached over for his beer, taking a sip to wash down the last piece of his steak. Allison’s veggies were almost done, he noted with amusement. She loved eating her greens before moving to the meat.

“And the Winchester’s are…?” Scott piped up, his eyebrows raised in question.

“Jesus, how are you a supernatural creature?” Erica scoffed, shaking her head. “The Winchester’s are the best hunter’s in the world. They’re like said to be immortal or some shit.”

Scott paled. “Is that true?” He asked Stiles and Allison.

The twins shared an amused glance, the corner of their lips tugging up into a smirk before Allison shifted slightly forward to speak to Scott. “They aren’t immortal… It’s just impossible for them to stay dead.”

There was spit-take splattering noise followed by a heaving sound and soon both Isaac and Erica were coughing loudly into their napkins. Boyd was passing on a glass of water to Erica, Malia was frowning in utter disapproval at the two and Derek… Derek was patting Isaac lightly on the back.

Stiles eyes flickered lower to the tiny quirk on Derek’s lips, the imprint of a ghost of a growing smile.

“What?” Erica wheezed. “Did you just say that ‘can’t stay dead’?”

Stiles shrugged. “It’s a long story.”

“And it would take months to properly explain the Winchester’s to you all.” Allison finished for him. “Not that Stiles and I were going to do that anyway.”

From across the room, Erica’s eyes zoomed in on his sister and though he wasn’t looking at her, he knew Allison was meeting her stare steely, unencumbered by the sharp, piercing gaze and then, bare pink lip ticked up and the blonde returned to her mashed potatoes.

“I think she likes you.” A soft voice whispered to his right, and Stiles turned to see Lydia leaned forward toward Allison, her eyes widened with exaggerated surprise.

“Lick me, Lydia.” Erica quipped from the other, her eyes never leaving her plate.

“You got Boyd for that, honey.” Lydia remarked.

“OKAY!” Scott exclaimed. “No, we are not doing that again. I want to eat me food in peace! Please!”

A soft silence fell over the table. Stiles shared a glance with his sister, their mouth upturned into encouraging grins, both comforted by the other’s presence and acknowledging what had just occurred.

His chest felt lighter, his heart beat easier, no longer tightened by coiled emotions. They saw her and recognized Allison for the amazing person that she was. Since day one, Erica had been the most aggressive toward the Argent's, something Stiles knew and had acted on the second he met her heated glare. He hated that his mistakes, his family’s mistakes, had fallen on his sister.

Allison had always worked toward righting wrongs and with that unfaltering determination to be a better Argent, she had taken the load of the families blame when in fact, she was the last Argent who should have to suffer through that. Her heart was the purist, always had been. Her view of the world had been so alien that it was a wonder how it came about given the way they’d been raised. He’d fallen under the pressure but not Allison. No, she fought for what she believed in.

“Hey, who’s the oldest?”

Stiles and Allison’s head snapped up from their plate of food and over to Malia who’d posed the question, eyebrows raised in unison.

The coyote calmly took a sip of her orange juice, looking at the Argent with expected eyes.

“Uh, Stiles.” Allison asked. “By a minute, I think. Asshole always had to win, even in birth.”

The hunter smirked over to his sister. “Get over it, sis.”

“Never.” She vowed in a low tone.

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t about you age anymore?” Lydia questioned, her green eyes bouncing between the two. When neither the Argent’s moved to answer her inquisition, she added. “And in the spirit of getting to know one another, you are obligated to tell us the tale.”

Stiles, chewing on his inner cheek, shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just a childhood joke.”

“So?” Malia asked. “We get jokes.”

Scott said. “It’s okay, if you don’t….”

“Stiles won our first ever sparing match by cheating.” Allison cut Scott off, her tone light and her voice carrying.

A variations of responses sounded at that, but all fell silent at the other Argent’s reply.

“Fuck you, no I didn’t.” Stiles answered in a jerk reaction. “You bit me!”

_“You were pulling my hair, Stiles.”_

There was a snort and laughter bubbled up from around the table. Pausing, Allison and Stiles gingerly glanced around, taking in the way Lydia was chuckles, to Scott who was laughing, right down the table to where Malia wore a Cheshire grin. And then, as though they had a life of their own, his eyes moved and fell on Derek.

Green-grey meet locked with his and Stiles’ stomach flipped at the inner-turmoil he could see waging on within. He saw the battle of will Derek was experiencing at having his pack laugh so freely and lightly with the man whose family was responsible for the deaths of his.

Suddenly, his throat tightened and the meal he had all too eagerly consumed threatened to exit the same way it had entered. Turning sharply, Stiles’ eyes fell on Lydia. “Hey, you got any more beer?”

Lydia, pausing, regarded him with a soft smile that only succeeded to make him feel dizzy. “Yeah, sure. I can go get—“

“No,” Stiles forced a kind unbothered tone. “It’s cool. I can get it. Just tell me where.”

Green eyes, brighter and more vibrant than those Stiles had burned in his retina stared at him for a beat before she replied. “In the kitchen, just outside and to the left. Top shelf.”

Nodding, Stiles carefully pushed himself up and out of his seat.

“Hey, where you going?” Scott asked, his eyes snapping over to Stiles, head tilted back to stare up at him.

“To get more beer.” Stiles said before turning to his sister. Their eyes met for a beat and Allison nodded. Moving past, Stiles squeezed her shoulder on his way out, forcing a casual posture, measuring his steps to appear relaxed.

“So, is a Bow your preferred weapon?” He heard Lydia ask Allison before all their voices faded and the silence of the house felt like a cool cover enveloping him as he exited the sitting area, closing the glass door behind him.

Inhaling slowly, Stiles forced his limbs to move toward the kitchen. He paid no mind to anything around him, mechanically opening the fridge door, pulling out a cold one and then closing it. With the beer in hand, Stiles exited the kitchen but, instead of retracing his step, he turned and headed for the front door, slipping out into the cool dawn. A light, gentle breeze kissed his bare skin and Stiles let out a steady breath. He stepped to the railing of the porch, twisting open the bottle cap and taking a long pull of the chilled bitter beer.

This really was good stuff. Having lived with Sam and Dean for a few months, their preference to having ‘a cold one’ after a hunt had been the start of the end for Stiles when it came to beer. He tried to steered clear of the heavy stuff, having witnessed first-hand how easy it was to turn to alcohol with the life he now lived but having beer after all the shit he’d have to witness that day did actually help calm his nerves, especially after the adrenaline left his system and he was left a bone-tired mess.

As the seconds turned to minutes, and the whistling wind passed through his ears, Stiles’ thoughts traitorously drifted to the upcoming face-off and what that would mean for him, Allison and the road ahead. He was effectively going to war against the people who raised him, the family that loved him and cared for him and made sure he was prepared for this life, knowing how bad and bloody it truly was. He didn’t know how he will be able to stand there, gun in hand; him on one side and his father on the other.

Gerard and Kate could rot in hell for all Stiles cared but his dad… Chris Argent had his faults, there was no doubt about that but he had loved Stiles and Allison in a way that only a father who knew the life his children would lead could. He taught them about courage and love, showed them how merciful compassion was and most of all that just because life as a hunter was dark and brutal that didn’t mean they had to end up like that.

Chris Argent taught Stiles that it wasn’t the gun or the name that made the hunter, but the unflinching desire to protect the innocent from the horror of the supernatural world.

The very idea of this fight conjured up a knot in his gut so tight it took cleaning his gun and drowning himself in work not to throw up or snap. The cool round rim of the beer bottle touched his lips and Stiles poured a generous amount into his mouth, swallowing thickly when the hairs on the back of his neck shifted, rising to attention, and announcing the presence of another behind him.

The heavy thudding of boots accompanied a weighted sighed and Stiles clenched his jaw in preparing for what was to come. Shoving his unoccupied hand into his jean pocket, Stiles glanced over his shoulder, amber brown eyes cautious as they met green-grey irises.

He held his breath in anticipating, staring at Derek Hale, watchful as the other man shut the front door behind him before closing the distance between them coming to a halt next to Stiles with a noticeable space between them. The corner of Stiles’ lips twitched as he eyed the gap, an alien-like amusement sparking within.

“Lydia told me your plan.” Derek started, his voice cool and calm. Stiles betrayed nothing as his gaze shifted, locking on the tensed up wolf.

Stiles nodded and took the opening for what it was. “Yeah,” He voiced. “Any problem with it?”

Derek shook his head, his eyes fixed firmly ahead of him, tracking the length of the woods he called home. “Nah, Erica and Isaac are eager to get their hands dirty, Malia was grinning like a canary and Scott and Boyd just want to make sure their girlfriends aren’t gonna go all Harley Quinn on everyone’s asses.”

_Nah… Nah…_

The reply, as mediocre as it was, replayed over and over through his head. Every word, playful and light that left Derek’s lips tugged at something in Stiles, stroking an otherwise burned out fire of hope. A useless emotion that Stiles snuffed out the second it made itself known in the depths of his subconscious. His brown eyes traced Derek’s visage, seeking for a glimpse of emotion that would reveal what Derek was truly feeling, searching habitually for the hatred and the anger that had always been there.

_Nah…_

One word, one stupidly innocent word.

“Good.” Stiles forced out lamely. “I’m glad everything is sorted then.” He took a small slip of his beer, anything to keep his mouth occupied as confusion clouded his mind and muddled his thoughts.

Stiles didn’t know what to make of Derek’s change of tone, especially when it contrasted so greatly and loudly with the hateful one Stiles had forced himself to accept and the resigned one Derek had ended with the last time they spoke.

Silence fell between the pair, Stiles neither eager nor willing to break it. He’d been working off Derek’s mood since he’d come face to face with the werewolf after six months. He’d been blindly following Derek’s lead with the knowledge and the reminder that he had no right to ask or expect anything of the other man. However, with the acceptance that Derek shouldn’t and didn’t owe him a goddamn thing came the desire to close himself off, to be just another hunter on just another hunt.

“You ready?”

Stiles paused, turning to look over at Derek with imploring eyes. “For what exactly?” He asked, holding back. He had a suspicion on what Derek meant though.

Exhaling through his nose, the werewolf met Stiles eyes. “Are you ready to face your family? With them on one side and you on the other?”

And there it was. Gritting his teeth to reel in his emotions, Stiles shrugged, hiding behind the mask of indifference. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“But they’re your family.”

“I’m not going to switch sides’ mid-standoff, Derek.” Stiles intoned, voice hardened to accentuate his point. Irritation spiked in him, colored with the sickening acknowledgment that he was going to fight against his family.

“I never said you were.” Derek countered. “I was asking if you were ready to fight your family.”

“ _Allison_ is my family, okay.” Stiles stated, lips thinned and jaw flexing. “My father made his choice and I could care less about Gerard and Kate. The man is a sick bastard and my aunt… well…” He shot Derek a significant look, allowing the rest to go unsaid but not unheard.

He forced his express to remain nonchalant, playing along as though these facts didn’t make him sick to his stomach. But what else would he say? He’d made a promise to himself and to Derek and if he had to stand against his family and side with Derek’s to stop another fucked up thing from happening to the Hale Alpha then Stiles was happy to do it. Derek didn’t deserve this shit storm… none of them did.

The sun was slowly sinking, turning the once orange-red world into a gloomy purple-grey, promising a chilly night. He loved and hated California for this. Due to the coast, when it rained it poured over here, and some nights were worse than others and as someone who lived in France for the first few years of his life, Stiles didn’t particular enjoy the sunny state of America. Beacon Hills’ had a knack for zoning in on the town’s mood, or at least that’s how it appeared to Stiles, and then based it’s weather pattern on whatever crazy shit was about to go down for dramatic effect.4

A sound escaped Derek, something between a scoff and an incredulous sigh and Stiles couldn’t help but frown over at him in question.

Green eyes fell on him as Derek shook his head, though it looked like he was doing it more to himself than in response to Stiles’ questioning expression. The wolf shifted beside him, his shoulder hunching up as he slid his hands into the front of his jean pockets. Stiles sensed Derek had more to say, and he knew that it was only because of this upcoming battle that the Alpha felt the need to say it.

Taking a sip of his beer, Stiles held his breath in anticipation.

“What are you gonna do after all this?”

Stiles froze, brows furrowing together. He tried opening his mouth to respond, but he was at a lost. The question seemed innocent but everything within Stiles was screaming in confusion as to why Derek was asking him this, what was Derek doing here and more importantly why was Derek here.

“What d’ya mean?” He voiced, wincing at the obvious change of tone that betrayed his shock.

Derek shrugged off-handily. “I _mean_ ,” he stressed. “What are you doing to do after this? Isn’t this war going to change everything for you?”

Stiles swallowed thickly. “Maybe. Maybe not. I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet.”

“But it will affect your life. As an Argent and as a hunter.”

Biting the corner of his lip, Stiles gazed over to Derek, tracing his calm features for any hint as to why Derek was asking him this. Would this battle change his life? Yes. After this fight, both Stiles and Allison will be known as the Argents who turned their back on their family but then again, they’ve been fighting against everything their family name stood for since going off on their own. Only now… their family’s allies will see them as enemies as supposed to hunters simply following the code.

Seconds ticked by and, finding nothing in Derek’s visage, the hunter exhaled softly through his mouth, licking his lips and said. “Someone once told me family doesn’t end in blood.” Stiles reminisced. “And that it sure as hell doesn’t start there either, and right now I have all the family I need. Both in name and in blood.”

Derek’s narrowed his eyes, staring down at the hunter who met his stare head on, bare to the scrutiny he was under. This might be the only and final time Stiles will have a conversion like this with Derek Hale, he might as well be honest for once in his life with the man.

“And beside,” He added, tossing Derek a self-deprecating smirk. “After all of this, family feud and all, you’ll get what you’ve always wanted.” He ignored the inquiring look Derek shot him and continued. “Me out of your life and your town.” He quipped, going for a light, joking tone when in reality everything in him was anything but.

Stiles’ eyes dropped to the bottle of beer in his hand and without another thought, he drowned the rest of the content. Swallowing thickly, he forced himself to turn and face Derek, wanting the werewolf to see the sincerity and the promise in Stiles’ eyes. “I keep my promises, Derek. And I promise you when all this done… I’ll be nothing but a bad memory.” He confessed, not only to Derek but to himself too because the sad, painful truth was that Stiles would be exactly that and should be exactly that to Derek.

A bad memory he would be forced to forget. A period in his life he’d wish he could erase for good and wished he’d never endured.

A tense, heart clenching silence followed. Derek’s burning stare bore down on him. Neutralizing his expression, Stiles looked up, amber eyes now closed off and indubitable. There was a noticeable pause and Derek opened his mouth.

A loud buzzing cut through the air, the vibration against his leg jolting Stiles. Derek’s lips pressed together, and Stiles reached into his pocket, eyes dropping down to the cell. Accessing the message, a heavy dread settling into his stomach.

He read the message and heard Derek say his name. “Stiles?”

There was hurried footsteps and moment later, Allison pushed open the door. Stiles’ head snapped over, meeting wide brown eyes before falling to the cell phone in Allison’s hand.

“Did you get it?” She asked.

Stiles nodded, the knot in his gut returning and twisting. “Just now.”

His eyes fell on the text one more and he read it aloud for Derek, to assure himself that it was indeed real.

 

_**[19:00 PM] Unknown: Tomorrow Night. 8. Be safe. Dad.** _

 

“Fuck.” Isaac spoke, speaking for everyone in that very moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title inspired by X Ambassador's - Unsteady & Beth Crowley's - I Scare Myself.
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter inspired by three of Supernatural's memorable quotes (or at least a few of my favorite)
> 
>  
> 
> "You are nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog" - Dean Winchester
> 
> "Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else." - Dean Winchester
> 
> "Family doesn't end in blood. But it doesn't start their either" - Dean Winchester quoting Bobby Singer
> 
> "I'll walk out that door, and I'll never come back. You'll live the rest of your life. And I'll be just a bad memory". - Sam Winchester.
> 
> *
> 
> For those who watch Supernatural, know that Dean is probably older than 30 given the setting of the Winchester's lives but I wanted to make him around that age, simply to make his interaction with Allison not creepy. He will always be a flirty guy for me, so I needed him to interact with Allison like that although it's more playful and there is zero intent behind his actions. He's just having fun. 
> 
> *
> 
> Apologies for any mistakes. This chapter was long, and some things might have slipped past me as I have no beta and am editing all of this myself. <3


	15. Show Me Who I Am (Fight For Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone. This story is slowly coming to an end. I want to thank everyone who'd stuck with the fic. It means a lot to me. 
> 
> This chapter was a bit difficult to right, for some reason my brain wouldn't pick up on errors, so I apologies for any mistakes. 
> 
> This is two pov chapter, with each perspective separated by "///".

It was chaotic. The air closed in around Derek as he leaned against the wall closest to the large table that stood in the middle of his home, serving its purpose as a commanding station. The suffocating weight of everyone’s anxious energy and their perturbation had his nerves on end. As an Alpha, Derek fed off the emotions of his pack, relying on it, using it as a guide; now all he wanted was put an end to this war, all so that his family would find some peace.

They didn’t deserve this and as listened to their mingled voices coming from all directions, he knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that he would convince them to run the other direction.

All around Derek, his pack and the Argents' were dashing around his home, Allison and Lydia going over the plan with everyone, Stiles chipping in to explain which part he and Allison would play, his deep voice hovering over them all. They’ve gone over it twice already, Derek could recite it from memory at this point, yet the pressing urge of the Argents’ tone made it so his pack was listening as though hearing it for the first time.

He kept this to himself, sensing the anxiety wafting off the twins, noting the glances they shared every so often. He knew how they felt, he’d felt something resembling it when it came time to go up against Peter for what his uncle did to his sister.

No matter how justified one was, there was no reasoning that would remedy the sick knowledge that you were fighting your blood. There’s a link that would forever be severed and though both Stiles and Allison had emphasized the importance of ensuring that no hunter blood be shed, neither of them were naive enough to believe this would be a clean fight.

“Look,” Stiles’ commanding voice filled the subsequent silence that followed once Allison had finished speaking. Amber eyes danced around the room, scanning the faces of those who would be standing by his side tonight. “It’s stupid to assume nobody is gonna get hurt and when that happens, you get your asses to Deaton. Scott said he’d be waiting, and the _second_ you feel the wolfsbane taking affect, you run.”

There was a buzz, Erica and Malia shifted forward, Isaac and Scott opened their mouths but Allison spoke up, her tone gentle yet authoritative all the same. “It’s not about you guys. It’s about your pack.” She told them. “It’s about the peace of mind so that we can fight without having to worry if the rest are taking care of themselves. Lydia,” Allison paused, casting the redhead a glance. “She explained her powers to me and what you all feel when one of your own is injured. It’s a distraction that could mean life or death. The best way to protect your pack is to protect yourself.”

All eyes turned to Derek, expressions varying from contempt to questioning. He met them all, giving a subtle nod to express his agreeing with Allison and Stiles. At his affirmation, Stiles and Allison let go a soft sigh of exhalation.

It did help that Derek was working with them. He’d been an asshole and his feelings toward the Argent twins had influenced his past behavior but even he, as a werewolf, who’d been raised under the threat of hunters, knew that what he felt had no relevance in this fight.

“So what are we gonna do until tonight?” Scott asked, puppy brown eyes seeming all too eager to ease the growing tension building up.

“Plan?” Erica suggested. “There isn’t much else we can do.” She turned to the twins. “Right?”

Allison gave a grave nod, shooting her brother a glance.

Stiles sighed. “We got a few hours. We have everything planned, we have backups plan for our backup plans. Best thing to do is keep busy until they attack.” He clenched his jaw and Derek saw his frustration at having nothing productive to do.

Derek felt the same. He hated waiting, hated sitting around like a helpless duck for his enemy to attack, not knowing when that will be exactly, but knowing that it would happen.

Stiles nodded to everyone, pushing himself off and away from the planning desk. Derek’s eyes dropped in time to catch the squeeze Stiles gave his sister’s arm as he walked past her, head ducked and eyes casted down. Keeping an ear on the chatter that returned between his pack and Allison, Derek’s eyes followed Stiles’ retreating form. The hunter didn’t wander far, slipping out of the front door and coming to a halt by the porch railing.

Derek recalled last night’s conversation, faded emotions making itself known once more. He’d asked Stiles if he was ready to fight and the other man’s heart maintained a steady pace as he answered in the most honest and open tone Derek had ever heard him use. Derek heard the rawness and sensed the intensity behind the promise had Stiles made to him.

 

_I’ll be nothing but a bad memory._

 

It seemed the universe was out to open his eyes, forcing him to look deeper than just the surface, urging him to see what Derek voluntarily ignored.

Lydia had advised Derek to think about Stiles, really think about him before deciding what the hunter was to him.

Malia, after Derek had returned that calamitous day feeling more lost and empty that ever before, had revealed to Derek that she didn’t hate Stiles, not completely. After the hunter had detailed how a trail of bodies had led him and Allison to the Desert Wolf, a were-coyote on the quest to regain the powers her unknown daughter had taken from her, and how it had been Stiles who’d put a bullet through her head, Malia confessed that maybe they were judging Stiles too harshly.

 

_“I mean, people make mistakes. Some more gravely than other’s but he’s learning from it.” Malia voiced, dark eyes hesitant to meet his. “It’s not right that we hold something like this over his head. Especially when we both know, it’s not really about him.”_

_“What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_“You know what I mean, Derek. Aunt Talia and Laura would understand. I know I do.”_

_He watched her walked away from him, leaving behind her words and their altering effect like a ghostly imprint on his mind._

Derek shifted, turning enough to get a view of Stiles, whose back faced the open front door, his leather jacket shredded the second he arrived this morning with two duffle bags full of weapons, leaving him in a worn out dark blue Henley, a crimson open-buttoned down with both its sleeves rolled up. His appearance screamed controlled casual attire as though he was ready for just another day. Since arriving, Derek’s eyes seemed to crave the sight of Stiles, seeking him out every few minutes, watching as Stiles spoke to his pack, explaining everything and in turn listening to them intently.

He tried to distract himself, keep his attention elsewhere but a minute later, his eyes would flicker up and over to see Stiles engaging with either Lydia or Scott. It hurt for some reason to see how easily his pack interacted with the twins, threatening growls and hateful glares a thing of the past.

Derek heard Stiles clear his throat and watched him reach into his back pocket to pull out his cell phone. Movement from the corner of his eyes drew Derek’s attention away from the isolated hunter, eyes flashing over to Allison as she walked past him, heading out the front door and taking her place beside Stiles.

Its then that Stiles dialed a number, shifting to the right as though to include his sister in the conversation.

Three rings later and a deep, ruff voice answered. _“’Bout time. Thought you forgot about us over here.”_

Stiles let lose a scoff-like laugh, his heart skipping in time with the man’s voice. Something twisted inside Derek at that and he caught the small grin blossoming on Stiles’ sullen face. His pink lips tugged up, his eyes met his sister’s and, as though she knew what was being said smiled, too.

“Ally and I’ve been kind of busy on this side here. Called Sam a while back, and I know she texted you so don’t get all mopey on me.”

_“Like I spend time thinking about you and worrying about your ass.”_

“We both know you can’t help it. It’s a predisposition.”

A laugh was shared between the two. Allison reached up and wrapped an arm around Stiles’ back, hand coming to rest on his left shoulder to give it a squeeze. It was an act of comfort.

 _“You two ain’t making it any easier for me either, kid.”_ There was pure fondness in the tone as the man called Stiles’ ‘kid’.

Allison tipped her head to the side and Stiles lifted his head to meet her eyes. “Yeah, we know… It’s why I’m calling, actually.” Another squeeze of the shoulder and an encouraging nod from Allison had Stiles continuing. “So, shit is hitting the fan over here. Allison and I are with the Hale’s, right now, working on some stuff but if things go as planned I’ll call you as soon as I can and if it doesn’t—“

_“Whoa, whoa. What the hell do you mean ‘if it doesn’t’? Thought you said you and your sister had it all sorted? You told Sam you didn’t need backup.”_

“And we don’t.” Stiles shifted, setting his shoulders back. “We got it sorted, Dean. I promise. I just wanted to call you, let you know what’s going down.”

There was a grunt on the other end. _“This sounds an awful lot like a goodbye call, Stiles.”_

A crinkle formed between Allison’s brows as she eyed her brother. Something came up behind him and Derek turned, meeting sad apple green eyes as Lydia stared up at him. He glanced around the room, felt the distress from his pack and knew they too were listening in on the conversation.

“It’s not-- _Jesus_ …” Stiles sighed, his tone over-exasperated. “Look, Allison wants to talk to you, too. So, I’mma hand the phone over to her, okay?”

A hesitant beat followed before Dean replied. _“Sure, kid. Watch your back out there, you hear.”_

“Always.” And then Stiles pulled the phone away, handed it off to Allison before walking away and disappearing from Derek’s view.

“Hey, Dean…” Allison greeted, her voice softer and kinder. There was a small shake in it, and Derek’s brows crinkled in worry.

 _“Hey, sweetheart. Sammy is here too— Hey, Allison!”_ Another familiar voice greeted, a voice Derek recognised as belonging to the same guy Stiles had spoken to that night on the bridge. Allison’s smile turned a touch brighter at the sound of the other man’s voice.

“Hey guys. How’s it on that side?”

 _“Same old, same old. Shit to burn, things to hunt.”_ Dean answered, his deeper, gruffer voice soothing and cocky all in one package. He tried picture the man and saw a 6’3, dark haired, dark eyed guy who wore his masculinity and intimidating appearance as an armor.

Allison chuckled. “It’s never that simple, though.” She commented, jokingly.

Pausing, there was a notable sigh from the other end. _“Are you two gonna be okay? You won’t bullshit me like your brother, right?”_

“Yeah, Dean. We are. The wolves got our back and we have each other. We’ll be fine. Stiles just--- We just thought we should let you know about what’s going on here. We know how worried you two can get and the last thing we need is the Winchesters high tailing it over here with guns blazing.”

 _“Just say the word, sweetheart, and I’ll be there. Impala is already gassed up and ready to go.”_ There was a shift in Dean’s voice; deeper and lighter. It took a moment for Derek to recognize the flirtatious undertone.

 _“Dean.”_ Derek heard Sam sigh.

Allison laughed. “Man after my own heart.”

 _“I thought I already had it.”_ Affection warmed his voice and the image of Dean shifted to someone less angry and harsh.

Someone ‘oh-ed’ from the other end of the room as Derek perked up, too. He was sure Allison and Stiles had said neither of them were dating Dean Winchester, the ‘hot hunter both the twins had the hots for’, emphasizing that the guy was in his thirties. However Derek wasn’t naive in believing age was a factor when it came to attraction.

“There’s that ego.” Allison crooned and turned around, her back to the front door and her face hidden from view. The cranking sound of a car door opening and closing could be heard, followed by heavy footsteps. Stiles came into view, expression neutralized and calm to all outsiders. He paused by Allison.

“We gotta go.” Allison said gravely, longing bleeding through. “I’ll speak to you, soon. Love you guys.”

Stiles visibly swallowed and clenched his jaw, his eyes fixed on his sister.

 _“You too, sweetheart.”_ Dean returning, softer and heavier than before. _“Watch your brother’s back out there.”_

 _“Bye, Allison.”_ Sam called out and Allison, with one final sigh, hung up and handed the phone over to Stiles.

The twins stared at one another for a beat. A message passed between the siblings and the Hale Pack collectively turned away, giving them the moment of privacy they deserved. He knew he’d crossed some line, listening in on the private phone call but Derek, as an Alpha, needed to know if the people he was protected were okay.

All day, Allison and Stiles had been professional, dealing with the issue in a detached manner that bothered him and everyone else who saw the defense mechanism for what it was. Suppression was a dangerous form of coping and knowing the Argents' had found some peace in their call with the Winchesters and in each other, eased the worrying knot in his gut.

As Allison and Stiles returned, they both headed for the duffle bags and silently got to work. They unpacked all their weapons, disassembling them on the space provided by everyone, declining Erica and Boyd’s offer to help, smiling at Scott and Isaac who gave them each a bottle of water.

It was disturbingly normal. As Derek watched Allison whack Stiles upside the head for flipping her off when she offered to clean his silver Colt, he found himself wondering away from the scene. His feet led him upstairs as Derek sought the sanctuary of his room, keeping his head down, knowing his Pack won’t bother him.

Sinking on his bed, he reached into his jean pocket for his phone, tapping the screen and dragging his thumb, it unlocked, revealing the picture of Mom and Laura. A wet smile fitted itself on his face, and his eyes stung from unshed tears as he traced their soft Hale features. His mom’s laugh echoed in his head and Laura’s soft, fond voice as she called him ‘Der-bear’ joined in perfectly.

Derek prayed he never forgot that sound. It hurt one night when he realized he couldn’t recall Cora and James’ exact features, or the particular way his father said ‘Aw hell, kid’. He remembered surging up from his bed, rushing over to his chest draw, ripping it open for the sketch book Lydia gave him for his birthday the first year she joined the pack. In it were beautiful sketches of the Hale Pack, with some pages containing only one or two faces.

He found out that day that Lydia had asked Malia to allow Lydia access to her mind through her claws so she could see the faces of the Hale Pack and Derek’s entire family.

The sketch book was currently locked in a safety deposit box in New York where no one would find or destroy it, far away from fire and hunters and hidden from the world.

(He had made copies and he knew Malia, too, had a similar book in her possession).

His ears perked up when he heard the floorboards of the stairs creaking and his nose twitched as the scent of gun powder and cinnamon wafted through the open door. He turned in time to see Stiles appear by his doorway, remaining just outside. A sudden burst of warmth filled Derek when he realized Stiles wasn’t going to enter his room.

The hunter gave him a smile. “Malia asked me to check up on you.”

“Did she now?”

He send out a silent curse to his meddling cousin.

“I asked why she didn’t just go herself but she said, and I quote ‘the last thing Derek needs right now is me sitting next to him, trying to cheer him up my way’. Any idea what she meant by that?” Stiles asked, eyebrow cocked up.

Derek licked his lips and swallowed, trying to wet his dried up throat. “She sucks as comforting people.”

“Ah.” Stiles nodded, understandingly. He inched a little closer, but only to lean against the door frame, hands shoved in his jean pockets. “I can go if you want to be alone. ‘Tell her you growled and flashed your eyes at me. That’s werewolf speak for ‘fuck off’, right?”

A laugh broke free and the heaviness in his chest eased. “So to speak. Lydia would argue that it’s Derek Hale for ‘leave me alone, I’m pouting’.” He returned the jest. “Sadly, she is right.”

The corner of Stiles’ lips tugged up, his amber brown eyes lighter and his broad shoulders less tense. Derek listened in on his heartbeat, hearing the fast paced thumping as it raced on in Stiles’ chest. He was nervous and hiding it behind a cool facade, and Derek wasn’t shy to admit that Stiles wasn’t the only one.

“You okay?” Stiles asked after a noticeable pause. He sounded hesitant in asking the question and Derek understood why.

With teeth nibbling on the inner-tissue of his cheek, Derek glanced down to his cell, eyes tracing the photo of his mom and sister. Was he alright? Hell no. But he wasn’t not _not_ alright, too.

“I don’t know.” Derek answered, truthfully. “The waiting is getting to me.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Stiles shifted. “It’s gonna work out.” He stated in a reassuring tone.

Derek snorted, disbelievingly. “That an Argent Guarantee?” He forced back the wince the second the words passed his lips, eyes flickering up to see Stiles clenching his jaw at his tone but remained overall unaffected.

“It’s whatever you want it to be. You got your pack on your side. It can’t get any surer than that.”

 _‘And you’_ Derek’s mind supplied, making his tongue feel heavy in his mouth.

“Besides,” Stiles continued, drawing Derek’s attention back to those certain amber eyes. “Allison and I have been trained for this sort of stuff. We faced a horde of Demons and came out alive once, so a bunch of self-righteous hunters shouldn’t be that much of a challenge.”

All Derek could do was stare back at Stiles, unable to offer more than what has already been said. The bustling voices of his pack drifted from downstairs, Allison’s voice carrying with them. Suddenly, Derek felt like this would be the last time he’d have a face-to-face conversation with Stiles. Millions of thoughts stuck him in that instant, things he wanted to say, things he thought he should say, and things he knew he’d never utter. He searched his heart for the right words, but none came to mind.

He thought back to what he’d said in his loft. He recalled the words he uttered to Stiles. Words which were so painstakingly true: _I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that._

Derek had admitted to Stiles that day that he didn’t hate him as he’d had made Stiles to believe. He’d clarified it with so much certainty that was both burdening and relieving at the same time. His life seemed to be filled with constant contradictions: one side sure, the other unsure. One side dark, the other light. One side blazing hot, the other chilling cold.

Stiles was the cause of that.

He was the one walking contradiction Derek had no chance in changing. He was an Argent, yet he made it his life’s mission to defend the Supernatural world. He was warm in his passion to protect and care for those around him and Derek seemed to unknowingly gravitate toward that heat, but then he was cold, icing Derek away to ensure he never got too near, closing himself off in the blink of an eye and leaving Derek disorientated (He had tried to ignore that part of himself, the part that was involuntarily affected by Stiles’ presence, warm or cold, because he didn’t want to acknowledge what it meant.)

Stiles was Trust and Distrust packaged together in one man who never left Derek’s thoughts and who Derek seemed to find himself standing beside at the end of the day.

“Derek?”

Jerked back to the present, Derek looked up to Stiles staring down at him, those dark brows knitted together in concern, his amber eyes penetrating and his presence reassuring.

“Lydia’s calling for you.” Stiles said and sure enough he heard Lydia’s voice calling his name: _Derek!_

Sighing, Derek pushed himself off the bed, his body less tense and more at ease since sitting down. He made his way toward Stiles, who turned, allowing Derek to walk past him before following after. The two descended the stairs, and with every step Derek’s determination strengthened.

He knew, as much as he wished it weren’t true, that this confidence and wilfulness was due to the ever-solid presence behind him, the man whose boots thudded heavier and louder than Derek’s and whose rhythmic heartbeat echoed in Derek’s ears.

 

///

 

The sky had darkened significantly, the weapons were all cleaned and everyone was getting ready to head to their respective locations. Stiles was standing near the empty wooden table, his guns neatly placed side by side as he secured his thigh holster; hip and back already in place.

“Everything okay?” Allison asked him for the fourth time since he’d returned with Derek after their brief chat upstairs. Her hair was pulled up and twisted into a tight bun with only two curly strands dangling from both sides of her head, one tucked behind her ear, but regardless of how cute Stiles thought his sister looked with her quiver strapped to her back and her bow beside her, she looked as menacing as Hawk-eye (Although she’d prefer to be compared to Katrina Law’s Nyssa Al Ghul).

“Everything’s still the same, sis.” Stiles sighed, exasperation clear in his tone as he slipped his gleaming silver dagger behind his back. “How long are you gonna keep asking me that?” He looked up and over to her, eyebrows raised only to see a matching expression on her face.

“Until you stop looking over to the other side of the room.” She retorted conversationally. Without meaning to, Stiles eyes snapped over to the far left side where Malia stood with Scott and Derek, the Alpha talking to the two in what looked like a parent forcing his children to repeat the house rules.

“So, _is_ everything okay, Stiles?” Allison acquired, sarcastically.

“Shut up.” Stiles looked away, forcing his attention on his guns as he loaded his mag, clipping it in. Pulling the barrel back, he looked inside the chamber, extending his arm before letting go, letting the barrel slide back into place, the metallic click louder than intended given the few eyes that snapped over to them.

Slipping the gun into his hip holster, Stiles moved for his silver Colt, repeating the process and sliding his precious gun into the thigh holster, the weight familiar and calming.

Allison sighed. “It’s almost time.”

Stiles glanced over to his sister, the light air their banter often induced gone. He nodded, flexing his jaw as he swallowed. Without a word, they both stepped forward, Allison’s arms slipping around his shoulder and waist with Stiles mirroring the hold. He drew his sister close, closing his eyes and breathing her in. She turned her head and buried her forehead into his neck like she’d always done thanks to Stiles being taller than her for most of their lives.

(He refused to count the times before he turned 5).

If there was one thing that being an Argent had brought him, it was Allison. His twin sister was the reason Stiles will never wish to have been born anything other than an Argent because in some twisted life elsewhere, he might not be Allison’s brother and that life was a life he didn’t want. She was the person who had always been by his side, who (according to their dad) had giggled and squealed with Stiles who had tried and successfully taken his first step, who had snuck into his room late at night after Gerard’s training and remained silent beside him while he cried through the pain exploding in his head and entire body. His sister was there through the hardest and easiest periods of his life as Stiles had been for hers. That was something that would never change, no matter what curve ball life threw their way.

Not if Stiles or her have anything to say about it.

Turning his head, Stiles dropped a kiss on her hair, giving her one last squeeze which she returned with equal force before they both pulled away. She looked up at him and though the worry and anxiety was clear in her eyes to him, her lips were tucked up into a smug, confident smirk. Stiles relaxed as he felt his features shift, mirroring Allison’s.

The twins’ turns and looked toward the Hale pack to see them all gathered together, forming a concave line and facing the Argents' with various sets of determined expressions.

“Let’s do this.” Derek spoke up, his voice carrying.

When those pale-green eyes found his, Stiles met Derek’s stare and offered him a rare, loving smile, hoping Derek understood.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Rescue Me- Kerrie Roberts (The story of kinda inspired by it too... or well it gave me some motivation.)
> 
> -If you have some questions or just want to chat, feel free to hit me up on Tumblr at jaceforreal


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